#sylvia plath poetry

[cinamonngirlie]

[lovingsylvia]

Sylvia Plath (age 21) in Wellesley, Massachusetts holding a dandelion puff, c. 29 August 1954

...

Palely lit by

snuff-ruffed dandelions, white daisy wheels and a tiger faced

pansy, it glows. O it's no family tree

--Sylvia Plath, from the poem "Polly's Tree", 1959, in: The Collected Poems (1981)

[zindagi-se-darte-ho]

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka

Anne Sexton, Imitations of Drowning

Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

[this-is-what-makes-us-girls-22]

[academic-vampire]

𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖟𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖒𝖓. ☕️🍁📚

[todayontumblr]

Saturday, December 2nd.

Sylvia Plath.

It's a dark and cold day in December and so, naturally, we are left with no choice but to celebrate the sublime and singular talent of Sylvia Plath. That means two entire days of quotes, pictures, and exceptional memes of a literary, existential flavor.

Happy reading, folks. Use your weekends well.

[kittenplath]

everyday girls are haunted by sylvia plath's fig tree analogy

[dearhearted111]

[brandyvampirexx]

Eat a fig for me

[sylviaddict]

"There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get."

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[ardent-reflections]

August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.

Sylvia Plath

[lovingsylvia]

The frost makes a flower, The dew makes a star,

Sylvia Plath, from “Death & Co.”, 14 November 1962, in: Ariel, 1965

[zindagi-se-darte-ho]

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.

— Sylvia Plath

[this-is-what-makes-us-girls-22]

[academic-vampire]

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢.

[jansen-dean]

From the poem "Channel Crossing" by Sylvia Plath