There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
(Wuthering Heights)
More Quotes from Sylvia Plath:
If I could bleed, or sleep!Sylvia Plath
This is winter, this is night, small love --
A sort of black horsehair,
A rough, dumb country stuff
Steeled with the sheen
Of what green stars can make it to our gate.
Sylvia Plath
Is she dead, is she sleeping?
Sylvia Plath
Is this the one sin then, this old dead love of death?
Sylvia Plath
There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.
Sylvia Plath
Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing.
Sylvia Plath
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