Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing. Sylvia Plath pilestinkunpublished Change image and share on social
There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them. Sylvia Plath bathcurehot Change image and share on social
If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days. Sylvia Plath backdayexclusive share on social
In London the day after Christmas (Boxing Day), it began to snow: my first snow in England. For five years, I had been tactfully asking, 'Do you ever have snow at all?' as I steeled myself to the six months of wet, tepid gray that make up an English winter. 'Ooo, I do remember snow,' was the usual reply, 'when I were a lad.' Sylvia Plath beginboxchristmas share on social
Mountains terrify me - they just sit about; they are so proud. Sylvia Plath mountainproudsit Change image and share on social
I think that personal experience is very important, but certainly it shouldn't be a kind of shut-box and mirror-looking, narcissistic experience. I believe it should be relevant, and relevant to the larger things, the bigger things, such as Hiroshima and Dachau and so on. Sylvia Plath bigboxdachau share on social
The next five months are grim ones. I always feel sorry to have the summertime change, with the dark evenings closing in mid-afternoon, and will try to lay in some physical comforts these months - the best insurance against gloominess for me. Sylvia Plath afternoonchangeclose share on social
I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited. Sylvia Plath experiencefeelhorribly Change image and share on social
What a man is is an arrow into the future, and what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from. Sylvia Plath arrowfutureman Change image and share on social
My childhood landscape was not land but the end of the land - the cold, salt, running hills of the Atlantic. I sometimes think my vision of the sea is the clearest thing I own. Sylvia Plath atlanticchildhoodclear Change image and share on social