There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room.

Sylvia Plath

Mots clés depression bell-jar

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Don't let the wicked city get you down.

Sylvia Plath

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And then I wondered if as soon as he came to like me he would sink into
ordinariness, and if as soon as he came to love me I would find fault after fault, the way I did with Buddy Willard and the boys before him.
The same thing happened over and over:
I would catch sight of some flawless man off in the distance, but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn't do at all.
That's one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth
of July rocket.

Sylvia Plath

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This woman lawyer said the best men wanted to be pure for their wives, and even if they weren't pure, they wanted to be the ones to teach their wives about sex. Of course they would try to persuade a girl to have sex and say they would marry her later, but as
soon as she gave in, they would lose all respect for her and start saying that if she did that with them she would do that with other men and they would end up by making her life
miserable.

Sylvia Plath

Mots clés marriage

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I tried to imagine what it would be like if Constantin were my husband.
It would mean getting up at seven and cooking him eggs and bacon and toast and
coffee and dawdling about in my nightgown and curlers after he'd left for work to wash up the dirty plates and make the bed, and then when he came home after a lively, fascinating day he'd expect a big dinner, and I'd spend the evening washing up even more dirty plates till I fell into bed, utterly exhausted. This seemed a dreary and wasted life for a girl with fifteen years of straight A's, but I knew that's what marriage was like, because cook and clean and wash was just what Buddy Willard's mother did from morning till night, and she was the wife of a university professor and had been a private school teacher herself.

Sylvia Plath

Mots clés marriage

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Who are you in love with?" I said then.
For a minute Marco didn't say anything, he simply opened his mouth and breathed out a blue, vaporous ring.
"Perfect!" he laughed.
The ring widened and blurred, ghost-pale on the dark air.
Then he said, "I am in love with my cousin."
I felt no surprise.
"Why don't you marry her?"
"Impossible."
"Why?"
Marco shrugged. "She's my first cousin. She's going to be a nun."
"Is she beautiful?"
"There's no one to touch her."
"Does she know you love her?"
"Of course."
I paused. The obstacle seemed unreal to me.
"If you love her," I said, "you'll love somebody else someday.

Sylvia Plath

Mots clés love

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I also remembered Buddy Willard saying in a sinister, knowing way that after I
had children I would feel differently, I wouldn't want to write poems any more. So I began to think maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about numb as a slave in some private, totalitarian state.

Sylvia Plath

Mots clés marriage

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What I hate is the thought of being under a man's thumb," I had told Doctor Nolan. "A man doesn't have a worry in the world, while I've got a baby hanging over my head like a big stick, to keep me in line.

Sylvia Plath

Mots clés men

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I don't see what women see in other women," I'd told Doctor Nolan in my interview that noon. "What does a woman see in a woman that she can't see in a man?"
Doctor Nolan paused. Then she said, "Tenderness.

Sylvia Plath

Mots clés men women

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I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Sylvia Plath

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