American - Poet | October 27, 1932 - February 11, 1963
I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No, it was the poetry.
Sylvia Plath
PoetryColdSkinKnowOverGhost
Didn't you know I'm going to be the greatest, most entertaining author and artist in the world? Well, don't feel badly, I didn't either!
WorldFeelYouArtistKnowGoing
The next five months are grim ones. I always feel sorry to have the summertime change, with the dark evenings closing in mid-afternoon, and will try to lay in some physical comforts these months - the best insurance against gloominess for me.
ChangeBestMeSorryFeelInsurance
I hope to submit to the little pamphlet magazines here 'freelance' and perhaps shall join the Labour Club, as I really want to become informed on politics, and it seems to have an excellent program. I am definitely not a Conservative, and the Liberals are too vague and close to the latter.
HopePoliticsI AmWantBecomeClub
I saw the first of the 7-mile-long column appear - red and orange and green banners, 'Ban the Bomb!' etc., shining and swaying slowly. Absolute silence. I found myself weeping to see the tan, dusty marchers, knapsacks on their backs - Quakers and Catholics, Africans and whites, Algerians and French - 40 percent were London housewives.
MyselfSilenceRedGreenOrangeSee
A little thing, like children putting flowers in my hair, can fill up the widening cracks in my self-assurance like soothing lanolin.
ChildrenFlowersHairUpLittle
If I tried to describe my personality, I'd start to gush about living by the ocean half my life and being brought up on 'Alice in Wonderland' and believing in magic for years and years.
LifePersonalityOceanStartMy Life
Mother believed that I should have an enormous amount of sleep, and so I was never really tired when I went to bed. This was the best time of day, when I could lie in the vague twilight, drifting off to sleep, making up dreams inside my head the way they should go.
MotherDreamsTimeBestDayLie
I don't believe that the meek will inherit the earth; The meek get ignored and trampled.
BelieveEarthWillGetMeekIgnored
Apparently, the most difficult feat for a Cambridge male is to accept a woman not merely as feeling, not merely as thinking, but as managing a complex, vital interweaving of both.
WomanThinkingFeelingAcceptMost
Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far so fast in such a small space; you've got to burn away all the peripherals.
DisciplinePoetrySpaceSmallYou
I've begun to think like a Jew, to feel like a Jew.
ThinkFeelLikeBegunJew
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