Frases de Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath foto
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Sylvia Plath

Data de nascimento: 27. Outubro 1932
Data de falecimento: 11. Fevereiro 1963
Outros nomes:سیلویا پلات


Sylvia Plath foi uma poetisa, romancista e contista norte-americana.

Reconhecida principalmente por sua obra poética, Sylvia Plath escreveu também um romance semi-autobiográfico, "A Redoma de Vidro" , sob o pseudônimo Victoria Lucas, com detalhamentos do histórico de sua luta contra a depressão. Assim como Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath é creditada por dar continuidade ao gênero de poesia confessional, iniciado por Robert Lowell e W.D. Snodgrass .

Citações Sylvia Plath


„Lord, what will I be? Where will the careless conglomeration of environment, heredity and stimulus lead me? Someday I may say: It was of great significance that I sat and laughed at myself in a convertible with the rain coming down in rattling sheets on the canvas roof. It influenced my life that I did not find content immediately and easily - - and now I am I because of that. It was inestimably important for me to look at the lights of Amherstn town in the rain, with the wet black tree-skeletons against the limpid streetlights and gray November mist, and then look at the boy beside me and feel all the hurting beauty go flat because he wasn't the right one - not at all. And I may say that my philosophy has been deeply affected by the fact that windshield wipers ticked off seconds too loudly and hopelessly, that my clock drips loud sharp clicks too monotonously on my hearing. I can hear it even through the pillow I muffle it with - the tyrannical drip drip drip drip of seconds along the night. And in the day, even when I'm not there, the seconds come out in little measured strips of time. And I wind the clock. And I look at the windshield wipers cutting an arch out of the sprinkled raindrops on the glass. Click-click. Clip-clip. Tick-tick. snip-snip. And it goes on and on. I could smash the measured clicking sound that haunts me - draining away life, and dreams, and idle reveries. Hard, sharp, ticks. I hate them. Measuring thought, infinite space, by cogs and wheels. Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.“

— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath