This is newness: every little tawdry Obstacle glass-wrapped and peculiar, Glinting and clinking in a saint's falsetto. Only you Don't know what to make of the sudden slippiness, The blind, white, awful, inaccessible slant. There's no getting up it by the words you know. No getting up by elephant or wheel or shoe. We have only come to look. You are too new To want the world in a glass hat.
Sylvia PlathThe reason I haven't been writing in this book for so long is partly that I haven't had one decent coherent thought to put down.
Sylvia PlathI would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!
Sylvia PlathI am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
Sylvia Plath