Sylvia Plath
How we need another soul to cling to.
Your room is not your prison. You are.
I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.
What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.
We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, me and you.
I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.
Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?
Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.
Kiss me and you will see how important I am.
I dream too much, work too little.
I write only because There is a voice within me That will not be still
I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.
O love, how did you get here?
That is salvation. To give of love inside. To keep love of life, no matter what, and give to others. Generously.
I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.
I am what I feel and think and do.
Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness
So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
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