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Professor Thomas: There's been a power cut. The moment you need heat and light, to sustain life itself, the government cuts the electricity.
Sylvia: Why?
Professor Thomas: To build a national character!
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Ted: I'm sorry...
Sylvia: What for?
Ted: I don't know yet...
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Sylvia: I'm thinking of taking a lover.
Al Alvarez: Oh, how glamorous. Who is he?
Sylvia: [Sylvia stares at Al, half-smiling]
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Sylvia: Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
[from her poetry]
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[on the phone to the BBC]
Sylvia: Don't take such tone of voice with me!
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[about the cows on the river bank]
Sylvia: How do you think they prefer Milton or Chaucer?
Ted: Chaucer obviously!
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Sylvia: You must think I'm some stupid American bitch.
Professor Thomas: Oh, not at all. I assumed you were Canadian.
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Sylvia: [to Ted, after making love] We're not even two people. Even before we met, we were just these two halves, walking around with big gaping holes in the shape like the other person. And when we found each other we were finally whole. And then it was as if we couldn't stand being happy so we ripped ourselves in half again.
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Sylvia: Sometimes I dream the tree, and the tree is my life. One branch is the man I shall marry, and the leaves my children. Another branch is my future as a writer, and each leaf is a poem. Another branch is a good academic career. But as I sit there trying to choose, the leaves bring to turn brown and blow away, until the tree is absolutely bare.
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Ted: A fucking good poem is a weapon. It's... and not like a "pop", it's a bomb. A bloody big bomb!
Sylvia: That's why they make children learn them in school. They don't want them messing about with them on their own. I mean, just imagine if a sonnet went off accidentally. Boom.
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[first lines]
Sylvia: Dying is an art. Like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like Hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call.
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Sylvia: Did you ever have something that you wanted to erase?
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Sylvia: I was dead. Only, I rose up again. Like Lazarus. Lady Lazarus. That's me.
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Sylvia: Mommy!
Aurelia Plath: Oh, darling. Welcome home, my darling.
Sylvia: Oh, you look beautiful.
Aurelia Plath: You're sweet.
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Ted: You know what your trouble is?
Sylvia: I have a husband who thinks he can tell me how to write poetry?
Ted: There's no secret to it. You've just got to pick a subject and - stick your head into it. You've got to write. That's what poets do.
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1st Woman at Ted Hughes' Lecture: Your voice - was so powerful.
Ted: But, what did you think of the words?
1st Woman at Ted Hughes' Lecture: The words?
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2nd Woman at Ted Hughes' Lecture: Oh, it must be wonderful to be married to such a great poet.
Sylvia: Yes, it is. It is.
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Sylvia: Who is she?
Ted: She's nobody. A student. She was - in that creative writing class I talked to. She'd written all these poems. I took pity on her. You think I'm fooking her?
Sylvia: Are you?
Ted: Oh, for Christ sake! This place is really getting to you, isn't it? This bunch of dried up, malicious old women who think their men are gonna get taste for fresh meat! As a matter of fact, I'm not fooking her. But, if I do start fookin' the students, you'll be the first to know.
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Al Alvarez: They're all bloody civil servants moonlighting as journalists. It's their job to protect the status quo.
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Mr. Robinson: Mr. Robinson. Mr. Robinson! You forgot this.
[hands him a book of her poems]
Sylvia: Oh, thanks. Do you think you might be reviewing it?
Mr. Robinson: This? I shouldn't think so. We just got the new Pasternak. Then, Betjeman's out next week and there's an E.E. Cummings in the pipeline. Not in the same league, really, is she? Sylvia...
Sylvia: Plath.
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Sylvia: What is it that you do?
David Wevill: I'm a poet.
Sylvia: Huh, so are we.
Ted: You're?
Ted: Ted Hughes. I'll get some wine.
Sylvia: I'm Sylvia Plath.
Assia Wevill: Oh, my God, that's...
Ted: I gave Assia a copy of your book, "The Colossus."
Assia Wevill: It's amazing. Yes, I love your poems. They're very beautiful. They're frightening with this haunting quality. What?
Sylvia: No, it's just - that's the best review I've ever gotten.
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Sylvia: The truth comes to me. The truth loves me.
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Al Alvarez: It's a...
Sylvia: It's what? What is it? Is it any good?
Al Alvarez: Good? God, yes!
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Al Alvarez: That Daddy poem, the use of metaphor, the way it builds the end out blackness into an explosion of fury. But, it's just - stunning.
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Al Alvarez: Sylvia, I know this must have been hard on you.
Sylvia: No. I've never been happier and I've never written more. Its as if, now he's gone, I'm free. I can finally write. I wake up between three and four, cause that's the worst time, and I write till dawn. I really feel like God is speaking through me.
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Al Alvarez: Extraordinary. And Lady Lazarus - the one about the failed suicides. The despair. The overpowering sense of foreboding and, yet, without a trace of anger or hysteria or any appeal for sympathy. The - the wealth of imagery. Such horrors; but, expressed with a coolness. Like a - a murderer's confession.
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Al Alvarez: Have you got a title for your novel yet?
Sylvia: The Bell Jar.
Al Alvarez: When is it coming out?
Sylvia: The new year.
Al Alvarez: Are you going to let me read it?
Sylvia: It's a pot boiler.
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Sylvia: Could you get me an ashtray?
Al Alvarez: Sure. I didn't know you smoked.
Sylvia: I don't. But, I'm starting. I'm thinking of trying some new things.
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Sylvia: Sometimes I feel like I'm not - solid. I'm hollow. There's - nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. Its as if I never - I never thought anything. I never wrote - anything. I never felt anything. All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.
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Al Alvarez: Look. One thing I do know about death is it is not a reunion or a homecoming. There's - there's no - your life doesn't flash before you and the missing piece of you clicks into place. It's just - there's just "fuck all"! There's nothing.
Sylvia: So, what do you do when your life get's as bad as it can and just keeps getting worse?
Al Alvarez: You just keep going.
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Sylvia: No, no! Don't call a doctor. Don't you know what they do? They hook you up to the eastern grid and fill you full of sparks.
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Sylvia: I'm just so on edge. I'm just so on edge. Oh, God, it's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault.
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Sylvia: If you fear something enough, it can make it happen.
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Professor Thomas: Look, do you want me to call someone?
Sylvia: No. No, I was just having - I just had the most beautiful dream.
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Sylvia: [final lines] The box is locked. It is dangerous. There are no windows so I can't see what is in there. There is only a little grid. No exit.
Sylvia Quotes
Extended Reading
