The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

by Sylvia Plath

Whom can I talk to? Get advice from? No one. A psychiatrist is the God of our age. But they cost money. And I won’t take advice, even if I want it.

If I am going to be a woman, fine. But I want to experience my feminity to the utmost.

One nice thing about living with a hundred girls – excitement shared is multiplied a hundred times!

You are no golden-woman yourself – just a rather vivacious human one!

please don’t let me stop thinking and start blindly frightendly accepting! I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of non-feeling, or stop questioning and criticising life and take the easy way out. To learn and think; to think and live; to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.

I am gone quite mad with the knowledge of accepting the overwhelming number of things I can never know, places I can never go, and people I can never be.)

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything it is because we are dangerously near to wanting nothing.

I am in black, dressed more and more often in black now.

I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn’t speak.