The lyric abstrusities of Auden ring mystically down the circular canals of my ear and it begins to look like snow. The good gray conservative obliterating snow. Smoothing (in one white lacy euphemism after another) out all the black bleak angular unangelic nauseous ugliness of the blasted sterile world: dry buds, shrunken stone houses, dead vertical moving people all all all go under the great white beguiling wave. And come out transformed. Lose yourself in a numb dumb snow-daubed lattice of crystal and come out pure with the white virginal veneer you never had.
Sylvia PlathEver since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy & peaceful.
Sylvia PlathI am afraid of getting older โฆ I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a dayโspare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be freeโฆ. I want, I want to think, to be omniscientโฆ. I think I would like to call myself โThe girl who wanted to be God.
Sylvia PlathI lay and cried, and began to feel again, to admit I was human, vulnerable, sensitive. I began to remember how it had been before; how there was that germ of positive creativeness. Character is fate; and damn, I'd better work on my character. I had been withdrawing into a retreat of numbness: it is so much safer to NOT feel, NOT to let the world touch one.
Sylvia Plath