I think I am mad sometimes.
Good to know that if I ever need attention all I have to do is die.
But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure at all. How did I know that someday―at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere―the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?
If you love her", I said, "you'll love somebody else someday.
How can you be so many women to so many strange people, oh you strange girl?
England offers new comforts. I could write a novel there.