Sylvia Plath Quotes

Winter is for women- The woman still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.

Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you.

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade.

Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements.

I could never be a complete scholar or a complete housewife or a complete writer: I must combine a little of all, and thereby be imperfect in all.

I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day-spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote.