“I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don't ask me who I am.”
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
“I need a father. I need a mother. I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty.”
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
“There are times when a feeling of expectancy comes to me, as if something is there, beneath the surface of my understanding, waiting for me to grasp it. It is the same tantalizing sensation when you almost remember a name, but don't quite reach it. I can feel it when I think of human beings, of the hints of evolution suggested by the removal of wisdom teeth, the narrowing of the jaw no longer needed to chew such roughage as it was accustomed to; the gradual disappearance of hair from the human body; the adjustment of the human eye to the fine print, the swift, colored motion of the twentieth century. The feeling comes, vague and nebulous, when I consider the prolonged adolesence of our species; the rites of birth, marriage and death; all the primitive, barbaric ceremonies streamlined to modern times. Almost, I think, the unreasoning, bestial purity was best. Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I'll laugh. And then I'll know what life is.”
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
“I smile, now, thinking: we all like to think we are important enough to need psychiatrists”
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
“I believe that there are people who think as I do, who have thought as I do, who will think as I do. There are those who will live, unconscious of me, but continuing my attitude, so to speak, as I continue, unknowingly, the similar attitude of those before me. I could write and write. All it takes is a motion of the hand in response to a brain impulse, trained from childhood to record in our own American brand of hieroglyphics the translations of external stimuli. How much of my brain is wilfully my own? How much is not a rubber stamp of what I have read and heard and lived? Sure, I make a sort of synthesis of what I come across, but that is all that differentiates me from another person? - - - That I have banged into and assimilated various things? That my environment and a chance combination of genes got me where I am?”
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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