Quotes from Sylvia Plath

Miért ne próbálhatnám föl a különféle életeket éppúgy, mint a ruhákat, hogy lássam, melyik illik rám és hozzám a legjobban?

Szeretnék szeretni valakit, mert szeretném, ha szeretnének.

He's lonely, that's all. So am I. Well, I'd rather be lonely than be with the wrong person.

What I decided to do in the end was lie in bed as long as I wanted to and then go to Central Park and spend the day lying in the grass, the longest grass I could find in that bald, duck-ponded wilderness.

But Doctor Gordon wasn't like that at all. He was young and good-looking, and I could see right away he was conceited.

And I thought of how my mother and brother and friends would visit me, day after day, hoping I would be better. Then their visits would slacken off, and they would give up hope. They would grow old. They would forget me... The more hopeless you were, the further away they hid you.

And I knew that in spite of all the roses and kisses and restaurant dinners a man showered on a woman before he married her, what he secretly wanted when the wedding service ended was for her to flatten out underneath his feet like Mrs. Willard's kitchen mat.

Since my woman's world is perceived greatly through the emotions and the senses, I treat it that way in my writing - and am often overweighted with heavy descriptive passages and a kaleidoscope of similes.

Es kam mir vor, als müsse Schatten das Schönste auf der Welt sein, die Millionen beweglicher Formen und Sackgassen des Schattens. Schatten fand sich in Kommodenschubladen, Wandschränken, Koffern, und Schatten fand sich unter Häusern, Bäumen, Steinen, auch fand sich Schatten ganz hinten in den Augen und im Lächeln der Leute, und Schatten, Meilen und Meilen von Schatten, fand sich auf der Nachtseite der Erde.

Doctor Gordon reached for the hand that hung at my right side and shook it.

I wonder if art divorced from normal and conventional living is as vital as art combined with living: in a word, would marriage sap my creative energy and annihilate my desire for written and pictorial expression which increases with this depth of unsatisfied emotion ... or would I achieve a fuller expression in art as well as in the creation of children?

Po letech je potkávám na silnici - slova vyprahlá a bez jezdc?, neúnavný klapot kopyt. Zatímco ze dna t?nÄ› životu vládnou utkvÄ›lé hvÄ›zdy.

Joan fascinated me. It was like observing a Martian, or a particularly warty toad. Her thoughts were not my thoughts, nor her feelings my feelings, but we were close enough so that her thoughts and feelings seemed a wry, black image of my own.

I had never been to Chicago, but I knew one or two boys who went to Chicago University, and it seemed the sort of place where unconventional, mixed-up people would come from.

the incessant seethe of grasses

They want you to be in a special ward," my mother said. "They don't have that sort of ward at our hospital." "I liked it where I was." My mother's mouth tightened. "You should have behaved better, then." "What?" "You shouldn't have broken that mirror. Then maybe they'd have let you stay." But of course I knew the mirror had nothing to do with it

I liked looking on at other people in crucial situations. If there was a road accident or a street fight or a baby pickled in a laboratory jar for me to look at, I'd stop and look so hard I never forgot it.

Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness? Love is a shadow.

Co je tak reálné jako kÃ…â"¢ik dítÄ›te? Králi?í skÃ…â"¢ek je možná divo?ejÅ¡í, ten ale nemá duÅ¡i.

The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn't hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me.

These conversations I had in my mind usually repeated the beginnings of conversations I'd really had with Buddy, only they finished with me answering him back quite sharply, instead of just sitting around and saying, I guess so.

I let the lights and the faces come at me. I let the nerves tap out signals to my brain center. I let go. The pink, green, and yellow neons flashed on and off with a definite rhythm, each with its own particular tempo. Together they screamed out a syncopated color rhapsody. The faces; the cafés; the speed of light, steel cars. Swift; quick. Red; green. Flash; off. Stop; go.

I thought it would be the way I'd feel if I ever visited Europe. I'd come home, and if I looked closely into the mirror I'd be able to make out a little white Alp at the back of my eye.

Actually, it wasn't the idea of Buddy sleeping with somebody that bothered me. I mean I'd read about all sorts of people sleeping with each other, and if it had been any other boy I would merely have asked him the most interesting details, and maybe gone out and slept with somebody myself just to even things up, and then thought no more about it.