To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream. A bad dream. I remembered everything. I remembered the cadavers and Doreen and the story of the fig...
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
There I went again, building p a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few posy nothings.
Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.
The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.
Stasis in darkness.Then the substanceless blue
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.
Ordering drinks always floored me. I didn't know whisky from gin andnever managed to get anything I really liked the taste of. Buddy Willard andthe other college boys I knew were usually too poor to b...
Now I am silent, hateUp to my neck,Thick, thick.I do not speak.
No, I won't try to escape myself by losing myself in artificial chatter 'Did you have a nice vacation?' 'Oh, yes, and you?' I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.
My mother smiled. I know my baby wasn't like that.I looked at her. Like what?Like those awful people. Those awful dead people at that hospital. She paused. I knew you'd decide to be all right again.
My mind is, to use a disgustingly obvious simile, like a wastebasket full of waste paper; bits of hair, and rotting apple cores. I am feeling depressed from being exposed to so many lives, so many of...
My hours are married to shadow.
My flesh winced, in cowardice, from such a death.
Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.
Love is the bone and sinew of my curse.
Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not-writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy...
Let me sit in a flowerpot,The spiders won't notice. My heart is a stopped geranium.
Let me fly with you.
It was my first big chance, but here I was, sitting back and letting it run through my fingers like so much water.