Sylvia Plath Quotes

Desire, despair, desire. So many monsters.

How hard could it be? Is it really going to hurt? You get into that deep well of emotion if you are by yourself. Why am I here? What's the point of going on? If I can't do what I want to do, then what's the point?

I think there comes a time in every persons life where they just need to go to the darkest, most dismal place.

There is a dark place calling to me, but I will not go just yet. I know I can't return from it.

What I was chasing in circles must have been the tail of the darkness inside me.

I am too dark in my heart tonight.

[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.

His parting shot to me had been, "I don't want to love someone who is more at home with the monsters than I am." What do you say to that? What can you say? Damned if I know. They say love conquers everything. They lie.

For always in her there was a dark place full of despair and a great dividing force to make meaning because there was none.

Love can't always do work. Sometimes it just has to look into the darkness.

Misery pulls away the brackets of life leaving you to free fall.

Musings The little poets sing of little things: Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings; Lovers who kissed and then were made as one, And modest flowers waving in the sun. The mighty poets write in blood and tears And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears. They reach their mad blind hands into the night, To plumb abysses dead to human sight; To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled, Mad, monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world. [click on the thumbnail by Jack "King" Kirby]

I had my eyes closed in the dark, I sighed a million sighs, I told a million lies, to myself, to myself.

Because of my age and what I do for a living and the amount of time that I've spent away from my family and loved ones, I'm starting to relate more to the late-period Kerouac stuff in the way that I once related to the fun and excitement of the early material. There's a darkness inside of me that I'm only now starting to come to grips with and accept. And it's starting to scare me.

How can I express the darkness?

I live in my deepest hell and from there I cannot fall any further.

Late, by myself, in the boat of myself, no light and no land anywhere, cloudcover thick. I try to stay just above the surface, yet I'm already under and living within the ocean.

According to all the experts, it's time for me to talk about what I'm going through... I can't. I'd need a new alphabet, one made of falling, of tectonic plates shifting, of the deep devouring dark.

For a long time that's all I could do, howl and scream and cry like the wild animal of the night that I'd become.

Oh darkness, I feel like letting go.

Go! you may call it madness, folly; You shall not chase my gloom away! There 's such a charm in melancholy I would not if I could be gay.

Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.

In the depths of every heart there is a tomb and a dungeon, though the lights, the music, and the revelry above may cause us to forget their existence.