Like piranhas devouring their prey, Plaths thoughts rush, churn, thres — Sylvia Plath

"I must get back my soul from you; I am killing my flesh without it."

"The silence depressed me. It wasnt the silence of silence. It was my own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldnt hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me."

"Later Buddy told me the woman was on a drug that would make her forget shed had any pain and that when she swore and groaned she really didnt know what she was doing because she was in a kind of twilight sleep. I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it or she wouldnt groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again."

"There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room."

"What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love?"

"These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt. I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me To the hills northern face, and the face is orange rock That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths Beating and beating at an intractable metal."