Tag Archives: sylvia plath

Now don’t say you can’t swear off drinking; it’s easy. I’ve done it a thousand times. W.C. Fields

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“I began to think vodka was my drink at last. It didn’t taste like anything, but it went straight down into my stomach like a sword swallowers’ sword and made me feel powerful and godlike.” 


― Sylvia PlathThe Bell Jar

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“I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, “This is what it is to be happy.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

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Yankunytjatjara Love Poems by Ali Cobby Eckermann 

“I will show you a field of zebra finch Dreaming in the shadow of the

                        puli puli ochre

            when the soft blanket of language hums kinship and campfires

                        flavour windswept hair

 

            little girls stack single twigs on embers under tjamus skin of painted

                        love

            the dance of kalaya feathers will sweep the munda with your smile

 

            do not look at me in daylight; that gift comes in the night

            tomorrow I will show ngunytju our marriage proposal in my smile”

– See more at: http://www.recoursaupoeme.fr/chroniques/tourist%E2%80%99s-guide-australian-poetry/ian-gibbins#sthash.hrRdfAxG.dpuf

 

WIDOW: The word consumes itself.

Sylvia Plath.

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I and a woman whose colour and cheeks shall have become black from toiling in the sun shall be near to one another in the next world as my two fingers; and that is a handsome widow, whose colour and cheeks shall have become black in bringing up her family.

http://www.twf.org/Sayings/Sayings5.html

 

He’s the slave of all slaves who serves none but himself.

http://www.rampantscotland.com/features/scottish_proverbs.htm

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

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

The Confidant is held together with delicate threads and secrets.

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“And 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, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath