Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.
SYLVIA PLATHDying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.
SYLVIA PLATHThe 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 hate handing over money to people for doing what I could just as easily do myself, it makes me nervous.
SYLVIA PLATHI love my rejection slips. They show me I try.
SYLVIA PLATHI felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas.
SYLVIA PLATHI want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.
SYLVIA PLATHLife has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and joie de vivre and shocks of beauty together with some hurtful self-questioning.
SYLVIA PLATHI woke to the sound of rain.
SYLVIA PLATHI felt wise and cynical as all hell.
SYLVIA PLATHLove is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it
SYLVIA PLATHThe truth comes to me. The truth loves me.
SYLVIA PLATHWear your heart on your skin in this life.
SYLVIA PLATHI dream too much, work too little.
SYLVIA PLATHThe abstract kills, the concrete saves.
SYLVIA PLATHI smile, now, thinking: we all like to think we are important enough to need psychiatrists.
SYLVIA PLATHI’m sarcastic, skeptical, and sometimes callous because I’m still afraid, deep down, of letting myself be hurt.
SYLVIA PLATH