Reality is what I make it. That is what I have said I believed. Then I look at the hell I am wallowing in, nerves paralyzed, action nullified - fear, envy, hate: all the corrosive emotions of insecuri...
She looks like a woman who has found it ridiculous to commit herself to a single emotional stance in anything, but must always ride high heavy irony.
Stasis in darkness.Then the substanceless blue
Talking about my fears to others feeds it.
The more hopeless you were, the further away they hid you.
The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.
The storerooms are full of hearts.This is the city of spare parts.
Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.
There is so much hurt in this game of searching for a mate, of testing, trying. And you realize suddenly that you forgot it was a game, and turn away in tears.
To learn and think; to think and live; to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.
What did my fingers do before they held him?What did my heart do, with its love?From Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices, 1962
What is it that teaching kills? The juice, the sap - the substance of revelation: by making even the insoluble questions & multiple possible answers take on the granite assured stance of dogma. It doe...
What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.
Daddy daddy you bastard, i'm through
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…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.
All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.
And then I wondered if as soon as he came to like me he would sink into ordinariness, and if as soon as he came to love me I would find fault after fault, the way I did with Buddy Willard and the boys...
At this rate, I'd be lucky if I wrote a page a day.Then I knew what the problem was.I needed experience.How could I write about life when I'd never had a love affair or a baby or even seen anybody die...
But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure at all. How did I know that somedayat college, in Europe, somewhere, anywherethe bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?
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