artist

dancing

dying

infant

love

opinion

Paris

poetry

psychiatrist

self-expression

tree

W.H. Auden

widow

winter

writing

nationality

American

occupation / innovator as

novelist

poet

short story writer

cause of death

suicide

essayist

religion

Unitarianism

race / ethnicity

Austrian American

diarist

children's writer

autobiographer

innovator in the field of

essay

fiction

's life nourishes itself on the particular, the concrete.

The artist's life nourishes itself on the particular, the concrete.

Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse.

Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.

's cry is more real than anything. A rabbit's cry may be wilder, but it has no soul.

What is so real as the cry of a child? / A rabbit's cry may be wilder / But it has no soul.

Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it

is like an orgasm. Mine matters most and I really don't care if you have one.

an opinion is like an orgasm. Mine matters most and I really don't care if you have one.

is a city which, when watched from the express caboose heading in the opposite direction, gets smaller and smaller as you'd expect, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.

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. It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction-- every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour. Sylvia Plath

is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.

is a tyrannical discipline in which you've got to go so far, so fast, in such a small space that you've just got to turn away all the peripherals.

Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline, you've got to go so far, so fast, in such a small space that you've just got to turn away all the peripherals.

is the god of our age. But they cost money.

A psychiatrist is the god of our age. But they cost money.

is everything --- After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.

After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.

is a poet in whose lyric abstrusities ring mystically down the circular canals of the ear. His words, like a good gray conservative snow, smooth, in one white lacy euphemism after another, out all the black bleak angular unangelic nauseous ugliness of the blasted sterile world.

The lyric abstrusities of Auden ring mystically down the circular canals of my ear and it begins to look like snow. The good gray conservative obliterating snow. Smoothing (in one white lacy euphemism after another) out all the black bleak angular unangelic nauseous ugliness of the blasted sterile world: dry buds, shrunken stone houses, dead vertical moving people all all all go under the great white beguiling wave. And come out transformed. Lose yourself in a numb dumb snow-daubed lattice of crystal and come out pure with the white virginal veneer you never had.

is for women. The woman still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.

Winter is for women The woman still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.

is about overcoming self-doubt --- Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it and the imagination to improvise.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

Sylvia PlathThinkers

Sylvia Plath