...we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.
Sylvia PlathAugust rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
Sylvia PlathDo I like to write? Why? About what? Will I give up and say, "Living and feeding a man's insatiable guts and begetting children occupies my whole life. Don't have time to write"?
Sylvia PlathAs a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.
Sylvia Plath