Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated — Sylvia Plath
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Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.

— Sylvia Plath
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More “Plath” Quotes

Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also m — Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
[Short Talk on Sylvia Plath] Did you see her mother on television? She said plain, burned things. She said I thought it — Anne Carson
Maybe if I could slip into Sylvia's mind, sort out the spices in her rack, alphabetize them and dust them off. Maybe the — Kelli Russell Agodon
Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramat — Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
We have conversations with each other most nights - Sylvia Plath and me! — Avijeet Das
Sylvia Plath and I met a long time ago. A really long time ago. Was it a summer day? No! It was a wintry November mornin — Avijeet Das
We have conversations most nights, Sylvia Plath and me. On these cold wintry nights with our coffee mugs in hand, we tal — Avijeet Das
Wars, wars, wars': reading up on the region I came across one moment when quintessential Englishness had in fact interse — Christopher Hitchens, Hitch-22: A Memoir
I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart.” I struggle to think of any line of thinking more linked — Alana Massey, All the Lives I Want: Essays About My Best Friends Who Happen to Be Famous Strangers
Sylvia was an early literary manifestation of a young woman who takes endless selfies and posts them with vicious captio — Alana Massey, All the Lives I Want: Essays About My Best Friends Who Happen to Be Famous Strangers
I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me. — Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems
So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough. — Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath