#plath

With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#life

My mind is killing me” — The Glass Child, Stuck In My Mind ↗

— Charlotte Eriksson

#lyrics-of-the-heart #music #my-mind #stuck-in-my-mind #sylvia-plath

Even amongst fierce flames/ The golden lotus can be planted. ↗

— Bhagavid-Gita

#hope #sylvia-plath #scripture

My world falls apart, crumbles, “The centre cannot hold.” There is no integrating force, only the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation. I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralysed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness. I never thought. I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. I do not know who I am, where I am going—and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions. I long for a noble escape from freedom—I am weak, tired, in revolt from the strong constructive humanitarian faith which presupposes a healthy, active intellect and will. There is nowhere to go. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#faith

Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh has gone through; I dream of what it may go through. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#dreams

Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#sylvia-plath #beauty

I'm never going to get married." "You're crazy." Buddy brightened. "You'll change your mind." "No. My mind's made up. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#married #sylvia-plath #the-bella-jar #change

I have stitched life into me like a rare organ ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#life #sylvia-plath #death

Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#depression #sadness #sylvia-plath #the-bell-jar #change

Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, ‘Do you know what a poem is, Esther?’ ‘No, what?’ I would say. ‘A piece of dust.’ Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, ‘So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you’re curing. They’re dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.’ And of course Buddy wouldn’t have any answer to that, because what I said was true. People were made of nothing so much as dust, and I couldn’t see that doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing poems people would remember and repeat to themselves when they were unhappy or sick and couldn’t sleep. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#the-bell-jar #imagination