"I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness. I never thought, I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. I do no know who I am, where I am going- and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions."
- Sylvia Plath, Nov. 3 1953 entry, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via theloupgaroux)
"And there is the fallacy of existence: the idea that one would be happy forever and aye with a given situation or series of accomplishments. Why did Virginia Woolf commit suicide? Or Sara Teasdale - or the other brilliant women- neurotic? Was their writing sublimation (oh horrible word) of deep, basic desires? If only I knew."
- Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via theloupgaroux)