As I paddled on, my heartbeat boomed like a dull motor in my ears. I am I am I am.
Sylvia PlathSunday - the doctor's paradise! Doctors at country clubs, doctors at the seaside, doctors with mistresses, doctors with wives, doctors in church, doctors in yachts, doctors everywhere resolutely being people, not doctors.
Sylvia PlathPensavo: dovrebbe esserci un rituale per nascere una seconda volta: rappezzata, rinchiusa e poi riconosciuta idonea a riprendere la via.
Sylvia PlathDet må være en god del ting et varmt bad ikke kurerer, men jeg vet ikke om mange av dem. Hver gang jeg føler meg trist fordi jeg skal dø, eller så nervøs at jeg ikke får sove, eller forelsket i noen jeg ikke kommer til å se på en uke, gir jeg etter til et visst punkt, og så sier jeg; Jeg går og tar et varmt bad.
Sylvia PlathI wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I should any more. This made me sad and tired. Then I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I shouldn't, the way Doreen did, and this made me even sadder and more tired.
Sylvia PlathTags: depression
Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not-writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing — singing, laughing, learning. The responsibility, the awful responsibility of managing (profitably) 12 hours a day for 10 weeks is rather overwhelming when there is nothing, noone, to insert an exact routine into the large unfenced acres of time — which it is so easy to let drift by in soporific idling and luxurious relaxing. It is like lifting a bell jar off a securely clockwork-like functioning community, and seeing all the little busy people stop, gasp, blow up and float in the inrush, (or rather outrush,) of the rarified scheduled atmosphere — poor little frightened people, flailing impotent arms in the aimless air. That's what it feels like: getting shed of a routine. Even though one had rebelled terribly against it, even then, one feels uncomfortable when jounced out of the repetitive rut. And so with me. What to do? Where to turn? What ties, what roots? as I hang suspended in the strange thin air of back-home?
Sylvia PlathTags: routine time-management
There must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them. Whenever I’m sad I’m going to die, or so nervous I can’t sleep, or in love with somebody I won’t be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: 'I’ll go take a hot bath.'
I meditate in the bath.The water needs to be very hot, so hot you can barely stand putting your foot in it. Then you lower yourself, inch by inch, till the water’s up to your neck.
I remember the ceiling over every bathtub I’ve stretched out in. I remember the texture of the ceilings and the cracks and the colors and the damp spots and the light fixtures. I remember the tubs, too: the antique griffin-legged tubs, and the modern coffin-shaped tubs, and the fancy pink marble tubs overlooking indoor lily ponds, and I remember the shapes and sizes of the water taps and the different sorts of soap holders.
I never feel so much myself as when I’m in a hot bath.
Tags: bathtub bath hot-baths tub
I was a terrible dancer. I couldn't carry a tune. I had no sense of balance, and when we had to walk down a narrow board with our hands out and a book on our heads in gym class I always fell over. I couldn't ride a horse or ski, the two things I wanted to do most, because they cost too much money. I couldn't speak German or read Hebrew or write Chinese. I didn't even know where most of the old out-of-the-way countries the UN men in front of me represented fitted in on the map.
For the first time in my life, sitting there in the soundproof heart of the UN building between Constantin who could play tennis as well as simultaneously interpret and the Russian girl who knew so many idioms, I felt dreadfully inadequate. The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.
Tags: inadequate
A psychiatrist is the God of our age. But they cost money.
Sylvia PlathTags: psychology spirituality depression psychiatry
Огледало
Аз съм сребърно и точно. Безпристрастно съм.
Каквото видя, гълтам го незабавно,
просто тъй, незамъглено от любов или ненавист.
Не съм жестоко - само честно ...
Сега съм езеро. Една жена, надвесена над мен, претърсва
пределите ми за това, което представлява.
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