That afternoon my mother had brought me the roses. "Save them for my funeral," I'd said.
Sylvia PlathWhat I cannot forgive is dishonesty - and no matter what, or how hard, I would rather know the truth of which I today had such a clear & devastating vision from his mouth than hear foul evasions, blurrings and rattiness.
Sylvia PlathIf you dissect a bird / to diagram the tongue, / you'll cut the chord / articulating song.
Sylvia Plath