muhleanuh.

I also hate people to ask cheerfully how you are when they know you’re feeling like hell and expect you to say ‘fine.’

—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via fleshscars)

(via fourfootteninonesock-deactivate)

I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me. My love’s not impersonal yet not wholly subjective either. I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, my emotions, as that person. But I am not omniscient. I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have. And you cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.

—Plath. (via andthecreeps)

(via andneverthedream-deactivated201)

bliggityblogging:

Cold and final, the imagination

Shuts down its fabled summer house;

Blue views are boarded up; our sweet vacation

Dwindles in the hour-glass.

Thoughts that found a maze of mermaid hair

Tangling in the tide’s green fall

Now fold their wings like bats and disappear

Into…

Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.

—Sylvia Plath (via wordsthat-speak)

(via wordsthat-speak)

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.

—Sylvia Plath (via creatureinthesky)

Let me live, love, and say it well in good sentences.

—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via wheresparetimegoestodie)

What a man wants is is an arrow into the future and what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.

—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via murderbornofvengeance)