Sylvia Plath: Trending quotes

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Sylvia Plath: 684 quotes249 likes

“I, love, I am the pure acetylene virgin attended by roses.”

Sylvia Plath

“I am sending back the key
that let me into bluebeard's study; because he would make love to me
I am sending back the key;
in his eye's darkroom I can see
my X-rayed heart, dissected body:
I am sending back the key
that let me into bluebeard s study.”

Sylvia Plath

“The frost makes a flower,
the dew makes a star.”

Sylvia Plath Ariel

Source: Ariel

“Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God”

Sylvia Plath

“It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world.”

Sylvia Plath

Source: Drei Frauen: Ein Gedicht für drei Stimmen

“What I cannot forgive is dishonesty - and no matter what, or how hard, I would rather know the truth of which I today had such a clear & devastating vision from his mouth than hear foul evasions, blurrings and rattiness.”

Sylvia Plath

Source: The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York.”

Sylvia Plath book The Bell Jar

Source: The Bell Jar (1963), Ch. 1, Opening line

“I self-paralyze myself & wonder what I've got in my head.”

Sylvia Plath

Source: The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted”

Sylvia Plath

“A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.”

Sylvia Plath

“I hated to serve men in any way.”

Sylvia Plath book The Bell Jar

Source: The Bell Jar

“When they asked some old Roman philosopher or other how he wanted to die, he said he would open his veins in a warm bath. I thought it would be easy, lying in the tub and seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank to sleep under a surface gaudy as poppies. But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get at.”

Sylvia Plath book The Bell Jar

Source: The Bell Jar (1963), Ch. 12

“It's a tango." Marco maneuvered me out among the dancers. "I love tangos." "I can't dance." "You don't have to dance. I'll do that dancing." Marco hooked an arm around my waist and jerked me up against his dazzling white suit. Then he said, "Pretend you are drowning." I shut my eyes, and the music broke over me like a rainstorm. Marco's leg slid forward against mine and my leg slid back and I seemed to be riveted against him, limb for limb, moving as he moved, without any will or knowledge of my own, and after a while I thought, "It doesn't take two to dance, it only takes one," and I let myself blow and bend like a tree in the wind. "What did I tell you?”

Sylvia Plath book The Bell Jar

Marco's breath scorched my ear. "You're a perfectly respectable dancer."
Source: The Bell Jar (1963), Ch. 9

“You said you would kill it this morning.
Do not kill it. It startles me still,
The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing

Through the uncut grass on the elm's hill.
It is something to own a pheasant,
Or just to be visited at all.

I am not mystical: it isn't
As if I thought it had a spirit.
It is simply in its element.

That gives it a kingliness, a right.”

Sylvia Plath

&quot;Pheasant&quot; http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/pheasant.html <br class="br">Winter Trees (1972)

“Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.”

Sylvia Plath Ariel

&quot;Fever 103&quot; http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/103.html <br class="br">Ariel (1965)

“These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis.
They grew their toes and fingers well enough,
Their little foreheads bulged with concentration.
If they missed out on walking about like people
It wasn't for any lack of mother-love.”

Sylvia Plath book Crossing the Water

&quot;Stillborn&quot; http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/still.html <br class="br">Crossing the Water (1971)

“The woman is perfected
Her dead

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare

Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.”

Sylvia Plath Ariel

&quot;Edge&quot; http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/edge.html <br class="br">Ariel (1965)