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“Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“He could not stand. It was not
That he could not thrive, he was born
With everything but the will �
That can be deformed, just like a limb.
Death was more interesting to him.
Life could not get his attention.”
― Ted Hughes, Season songs

“Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“I’m so pathetically intense. I just can’t be any other way.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Letters of Sylvia Plath Vol 2: 1956-1963

“With that strange knowing that comes over me, like a clairvoyance, I know that I am sure of myself and my enormous and alarmingly timeless love for you; which will always be.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.”
― Sylvia Plath

“She looked terrible, but very wise.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“But inside your sob-sodden Kleenex

And your Saturday night panics,

Under your hair done this way and that way,

Behind what looked like rebounds

And the cascade of cries diminuendo,

You were undeflected.

You were gold-jacketed, solid silver,

Nickel-tipped. Trajectory perfect

As through ether.”
― Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters

“Sylvia was an early literary manifestation of a young woman who takes endless selfies and posts them with vicious captions calling herself fat and ugly. She is at once her own documentarian and the reflexive voice that says she is unworthy of documentation. She sends her image into the world to be seen, discussed, and devoured, proclaiming that the ordinariness or ugliness of her existence does not remove her right to have it.”
― Alana Massey, All the Lives I Want: Essays About My Best Friends Who Happen to Be Famous Strangers

“In my position, the right witchdoctor

Might have caught you in flight with his bare hands,

Tossed you, cooling, one hand to the other,

Godless, happy, quieted.

I managed

A wisp of your hair, your ring, your watch, your nightgown.”
― Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters

“Maybe if I could slip into Sylvia's mind, sort out the spices in her rack, alphabetize them and dust them off. Maybe then I'd understand how it's the little things that pull you under.”
― Kelli Russell Agodon

“This mizzle fits me like a sad jacket.”
― Sylvia Plath

“I am sitting in my room, looking out at a scene of snow pouring down with ice and sleet and thinking of how sometimes people are really wonderful after all.”
― Sylvia Plath, Letters of Sylvia Plath, Volume I: 1940-1956

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart.â€� I struggle to think of any line of thinking more linked to being a socialized female than to consider the declaration of simply existing to feel like a form of bragging. But that, of course, is the plight of the feeling girl: to be told again and again that her very existence is something not worth declaring.”
― Alana Massey, All the Lives I Want: Essays About My Best Friends Who Happen to Be Famous Strangers

“The eyes and the faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.”
― Sylvia Plath

“They're really going to mash the world up this time, the damn fools. When I read that description of the victims of Nagasaki I was sick: "And we saw what first looked like lizards crawling up the hill, croaking. It got lighter and we could see that it was humans, their skin burned off, and their bodies broken where they had been thrown against something." Sounds like something out of a horror story. God save us from doing that again. For the United States did that. Our guilt. My country. No, never again.”
― Sylvia Plath

“I am going for a long walk”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“Seré una de las pocas poetisas en el mundo completamente feliz de ser mujer, no una de esas amargadas y frustradas, retorcidas imitadoras de hombres, que en su mayoría acaban destrozadas”
― Sylvia Plath

“the razor slitting the stomach, and the life throbbing away, red flood by red flood - I lay crouched, kneeling on the khaki quilt on the living room floor where there was air,”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“an atmosphere of pain blood and pain and misery or staunch bitter rebellion of body- but no peace- no transfiguration- atmosphere of fear of physical pain - wincing from the knife- the loss of identity which is slavery to physical pain. Brutal, passionate flesh- marisse crucifix- pain smoothed way, identity smoothed away in pain- pure anguish human attempts at deciphering the riddle of pain- blood: florid and ornate-ugly, unredeeemed, ironic- waiting in corridors- cross of flesh x spirit- minor daily crosses-”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“Rooms.Every room a world. To be god: to be every life before we die: a dream to drive men mad. But to be one person, one woman- to live, suffer, bear children and learn others lives and make them into print worlds spinning like planets in the minds of other men.”
― Sylvia Plath

“Dialogues with such inspiring idols as Sylvia Plath, Maya Angelou, E E Cummings, Rabindranath Tagore, Lakshmi Prasad Devkota, Ernest Hemingway in one's imagination is a way to keep the creative fire burning within the artist's soul.”
― Avijeet Das

“It mightn't make me any happier, but it would be one more little pebble of efficiency among all the other pebbles.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“At the altar the coffin loomed in its snow pallor of flowers--the black shadow of something that wasn't there.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“Kafka, Tolstoy, Plath, Hemingway, Neruda, and Rilke are all masters of writing. They are history. Read the writings of the present generation poets & writers, before they become history!”
― Avijeet Das

“I knew what was about to happen. I knew I was going to cry. It’s not even about sadness—it’s about vulnerability. Seeing into a person’s soul, even for a moment, is just too much. It’s like the convex meniscus Sylvia Plath describes in The Bell Jar—the water that clings to the sides of the glass before one tiny pulse causes it to overflow.”
― Jennifer Rieger, Burning Sage

“I need so to love a person-be it girl or boy, friend or enemy. And without being able to, I sort of dry up.”
― Heather Clark, Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath

“Out of the ash, I rise with my red hair. And I eat men like air.”
― SylviaPlath