Sylvia Plath

I don't care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.

I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralysed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness.

If it was God's will, it is a very stupid arbitrary blood thirsty God, and I do not like him or believe in him or respect him because he is more foolish and mean than we are and has no sense of proportion of what people are good for living and what people are unfit.

I am jealous of men – a dangerous and subtle envy which can corrode, I imagine, any relationship.