02c. 1947 ADI fancied you'd return the way you said,But I grow old and I forget your name. --From the poem "Mad Girl's Love SongSylvia Plath / quote ↗
04c. 1947 ADI took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
05c. 1947 ADShe stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
06c. 1947 ADI thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was only purely happy until I was nine years old.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
10c. 1947 ADAnd the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
11c. 1947 ADI felt very happy. To think that I didn't have to torture myself sitting in a smoke-filled room with a painted party smile, watching my date get drunkSylvia Plath / quote ↗
12c. 1947 ADEnnuiTea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe,designing futures where nothing will occur:cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning shewill still predict no perils left to conquer.Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knightfinds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheardof, while blasé princesses indicttilts at terror as downright absurd.The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump,compelling hero’s dull career to crisis;and when insouciant angels play God’s trump,while bored arena crowds for once look eager,hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizesshall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
13c. 1947 ADLoreleiIt is no night to drown in:A full moon, river lapsingBlack beneath bland mirror-sheen,The blue water-mists droppingScrim after scrim like fishnetsThough fishermen are sleeping,The massive castle turretsDoubling themselves in a glassAll stillness. Yet these shapes floatUp toward me, troubling the faceOf quiet. From the nadirThey rise, their limbs ponderousWith richness, hair heavierThan sculptured marble. They singOf a world more full and clearThan can be. Sisters, your songBears a burden too weightyFor the whorled ear's listeningHere, in a well-steered country,Under a balanced ruler.Deranging by harmonyBeyond the mundane order,Your voices lay siege. You lodgeOn the pitched reefs of nightmare,Promising sure harborage;By day, descant from bordersOf hebetude, from the ledgeAlso of high windows. WorseEven than your maddeningSong, your silence. At the sourceOf your ice-hearted calling-Drunkenness of the great depths.O river, I see driftingDeep in your flux of silverThose great goddesses of peace.Stone, stone, ferry me down there.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
14c. 1947 ADThe moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
15c. 1947 ADI wanted to tell her that if only something were wrong with my body it would be fine, I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head, but the idea seemed so involved and wearisome that I didn’t say anything. I only burrowed down further in the bed.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
16c. 1947 ADWhat I didn't say was that each time I picked up a German dictionary or a German book, the very sight of those dense, black, barbed-wire letters made my mind shut like a clam.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
17c. 1947 ADAnd 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.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
18c. 1947 ADThis is a case without a body.The body does not come into it at all.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
19c. 1947 ADIf they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
20c. 1947 ADI saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
21c. 1947 ADI felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas, as if whatever it was the pine boughs and the candles and the silver and gilt-ribboned presents and the birch-log fires and the Christmas turkey and the carols at the piano promised never came to pass.Sylvia Plath / quote ↗
