The constant struggle in mature life, I think, is to accept the necessity of tragedy and conflict, and not to try to escape to some falsely simple solution which does not include these more somber complexities.
SYLVIA PLATHI don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.
More Sylvia Plath Quotes
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I have stitched life into me like a rare organ.
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Love life day by day, color by color, touch by touch.
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I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I’d never seen before in my life.
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What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.
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I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.
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So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
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If the body is a temple, then tattoos are its stained glass windows.
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I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of nonfeeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out.
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I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.
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One thing, I try to be honest. And what is revealed is often rather hideously unflattering.
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Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.
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I am not cruel, only truthful.
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I am what I feel and think and do.
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I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.
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Don’t let the wicked city get you down.
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I talk to God but the sky is empty.
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I’m sarcastic, skeptical, and sometimes callous because I’m still afraid, deep down, of letting myself be hurt.
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How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.
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Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.
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Sometimes I feel like I’m not solid. I’m hollow. There’s nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.
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I am myself. That is not enough.
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I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.
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When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn’t want it, you cannot take it back. It’s gone forever.
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After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.
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I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery – air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, This is what it is to be happy.
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I am dead to them, even though I once flowered.
SYLVIA PLATH