The oldest, shortest words— "yes" and "no"— are those which require the most thought.

Clarity costs more than complexity

We live in an age of elaborate explanations. When we want to decline something, we craft careful sentences about timing and circumstances. When we commit to something, we hedge with maybes and contingencies. But Plath's point cuts through all that noise: the hardest thing isn't finding words—it's actually deciding what we mean.

A simple "yes" or "no" forces clarity in a way that long explanations never do. When you say yes to one thing, you're simultaneously saying no to everything else you could do instead. That's the weight behind it. And no is even trickier, because it invites pushback, disappointment, the burden of being the person who said the difficult thing. So we soften it, rationalize it, turn it into something complicated that feels safer but ultimately less honest.

The counterintuitive insight here is that simplicity demands more thought than complexity. Anyone can ramble or equivocate; a real decision requires you to actually know what you want. It's why people often feel exhausted after saying a clear yes or no—not from the words themselves, but from the internal reckoning those words demand. Plath understood that economy of language is really economy of self-knowledge.