Quotes About Transformation
I felt purged and holy and ready for a new life.
~ Sylvia Plath
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I said to myself: Doreen is dissolving, Lenny Shepherd is dissolving, Frankie is dissolving, New York is dissolving, they are all dissolving away and none of them matter any more. I don't know them, I have never known them and I am very pure. All that liquor and those sticky kisses I saw and the dirt that settled on my skin on the way back is turning into something pure.
~ Sylvia Plath
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I am a part of all that I have met." To you, whether or not you know, having wandered into the tissue of my life, and out again, you have left a momentary part of you which I will work into something. There is nothing but that it will suffer a sea change into something rich and strange. Through me transmuted.
~ Sylvia Plath
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I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I'd never seen before in my life.
~ Sylvia Plath
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My writing, my desire to be many lives. I will be a little god in my small way. My happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it to typewritten words on paper. I am justifying my life, my keen emotion, my feeling, by turning it into print.
~ Sylvia Plath
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Era demasiado tarde y su rostro se tornó más nítido, amoroso, como si yo estuviera lista.
~ Sylvia Plath
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Un soare imperturbabil È™i alb str?lucea în vârful cerului. Îmi venea s? m? È™lefuiesc de la el pân? când deveneam sfînt? È™i esenÈ›ial? c? lama unui cuÈ›it.
~ Sylvia Plath
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Dar eu nu m? m?ritam. Trebuia s? existe, îmi spuneam eu, un ritual pentru când te n??teai a doua oar?, vulcanizat, reÈ™apat È™i gata de drum.
~ Sylvia Plath
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The frost makes a flower, the dew makes a star.
~ Sylvia Plath
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Piece by piece, as at the strokes of a dull godmother's wand, the old world sprang back into position.
~ Sylvia Plath
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And now I Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas. The child's cry Melts in the wall. And I Am the arrow, That dew that flies Suicidal, at one with the drive Into the red Eye, the cauldron of morning. --from Ariel, written 27 October 1962
~ Sylvia Plath
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And so I stand, a little sightless. So I walk Away on wheels, instead of legs, they serve as well. And learn to speak with fingers, not a tongue. The body is resourceful.
~ Sylvia Plath
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By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me.
~ Sylvia Plath
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By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me. I sizzled in his blue volts like a desert prophet.
~ Sylvia Plath
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Tudom – mondta csöndesen Tracy –, de mégis meg fogsz változni, akár akarod, akár nem. Semmi nem marad ugyanaz. Semmi, gondolta Millicent. Milyen rémes is lenne, ha az ember sosem változna… ha az élete végéig az a néhány évvel korábbi, unalmas és szégyenlÅ's Millicent maradna. Szerencsére azonban az ember mindig változik, fejlÅ'dik, halad. (Beavatás)
~ Sylvia Plath
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Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one's ashes, the grey scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.
~ Sylvia Plath
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I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions. I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.
~ Sylvia Plath
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Something is gone. My sleeping capsule, my red and blue zeppelin Drops me from a terrible altitude. Carapace smashed, I spread to the beaks of birds.
~ Sylvia Plath
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I justified the mess I made of life by saying I'd give it order, form, beauty, writing about it;
~ Sylvia Plath
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I can change, whittle my square edges to fit in a round hole. God, I hope I'm never going to massacre myself that way.
~ Sylvia Plath
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I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.
~ Sylvia Plath
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Pensavo: dovrebbe esserci un rituale per nascere una seconda volta: rappezzata, rinchiusa e poi riconosciuta idonea a riprendere la via.
~ Sylvia Plath
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Of the ear, old worrier. Water mollifies the flint lip, And daylight lays its sameness on the wall. The grafters are cheerful, Heating the pincers, hoisting the delicate hammers. A current agitates the wires Volt upon volt. Catgut stitches my fissures. A workman walks by carrying a pink torso. The storerooms are full of hearts. This is the city of spare parts. My swaddled legs and arms smell sweet as rubber. Here they can doctor heads, or any limb.
~ Sylvia Plath
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There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice - patched, retreaded and approved for the road
~ Sylvia Plath
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