Sylvia Plath Quotations | Page 4

I used to pray to recover you.

No day is safe from news of you.

All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. The bell jar hung suspended a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.

Like a cat I have nine times to die.

I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone.

Backward we traveled to reclaim the day Before we fell, like Icarus, undone; All we find are altars in decay And profane words scrawled black across the sun.

To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.

I didn't know what I was doing in New York.

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.