And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
A Poetic Retelling Of An Unfortunate Seduction
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I am still so naive. I know pretty much what I like and dislike, but please, don’t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?
I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.
—
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via quote-book)
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via quote-book)
And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt
16 This post is tagged with: Sylvia Plath
(via m3dusa)
Not to be sentimental, as I sound, but why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland-fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?
698 This post is tagged with: Sylvia Plath
Kiss me and you will see how important I am.
1058 This post is tagged with: Sylvia Plath
I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.
0 This post is tagged with: Sylvia Plath The Bell Jar I think I re-blog this every time it shows up on my dash
