Sylvia Plathová citáty

page 12

„Prosím, neočakávajte, že budem vždy dobrá, láskavá a milujúca. Sú chvíle, keď budem chladná, bezohľadná a ťažko pochopiteľná.“

„Rozprávam sa s Bohom, ale nebo je prázdne.“

„Cítil som, ako sa moje pľúca nafúknu nábehom scenérie - vzduchu, hôr, stromov, ľudí. Pomyslel som si: "To je ten pocit šťastia."“

„Je dobré vedieť, že ak budem niekedy potrebovať pozornosť, stačí zomrieť.“

“There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice - patched, retreaded and approved for the road.”

“The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.”

“There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.”

“I didn't feel like asking him if there were any other ways to have babies. For some reason the most important thing to me was actually seeing the baby come out of you yourself and making sure it was yours. I thought if you had to have all that pain anyway you might just as well stay awake. I had always imagined myself hitching up on to my elbows on the delivery table after it was all over — dead white, of course, with no makeup and form the awful ordeal, but smiling and radiant, with my hair down to my waist, and reaching out for my first little squirmy child and saying its name, whatever it was.”

“The abstract kills, the concrete saves.”

“What a man is is an arrow into the future and what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.”

“The one thing I was good at was winning scholarships and prizes, and that era was coming to an end.”

“They understood things of the spirit in Japan. They disemboweled themselves when anything went wrong.”

“Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that?
Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk, talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.”

“I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.”

“What did my fingers do before they held him?
What did my heart do, with its love?”