โฆI hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.
Sylvia PlathLet me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals.
Sylvia PlathI find that in a novel I can get more of life, perhaps not such intense life, but certainly more of life than in poetry.
Sylvia PlathI had removed my patent leather shoes after a while, for they foundered badly in the sand. It pleased me to think they would be perched there on the silver log, pointing out to sea, like a sort of soul-compass, after I was dead.
Sylvia PlathI didnโt want any flowers, I only wanted To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how freeโโ The peacefulness is so big it dazes you, And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets. It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.
Sylvia Plath