The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower.
Sylvia PlathStichwörter: death thought suicide sylvia-plath bell-jar
There is no better way to know us
Than as two wolves, come separately to a wood.
Stichwörter: proposal sylvia-plath ted-hughes wolves relationship
How we need that security. How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.
Sylvia PlathStichwörter: love security companionship desire need sylvia-plath warmth
Even amongst fierce flames/ The golden lotus can be planted.
Bhagavid-GitaStichwörter: hope sylvia-plath hindu-scriptures
...it wouldn't have made one scrap of difference to me, because wherever I sat - on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok - I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
Sylvia PlathStichwörter: sylvia-plath the-bell-jar
So what do you think?’ He asked, holding up the book.
‘I think Salinger is a closet paedophile,’ I replied placidly and was surprised and comforted by this minuscule, acidic, bitter Sylvia Plath like mocking, sniping tone that had crept into my voice. ‘The main character Seymour is a fully grown man and a pervert who befriends young girls with his storytelling and swimming, just to get close enough to groom them in preparation for the inevitable sexual assault he lusts after. You might have noticed for example in A Perfect Day For Bananafish he grabs the young girls-’
‘Sybil.’
‘He grabs Sybil’s ankles while lying on the beach and again when he pushes her in the water,’ I continued. ‘He goes too far when he kisses the bottom of her foot which makes even a four-year-old yell out in fear, knowing a line had been crossed. Frustrated Seymour walks away and goes back to his hotel where he kills himself in shame.
Stichwörter: book quote j-d-salinger sylvia-plath
Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, ‘Do you know what a poem is, Esther?’
‘No, what?’ I would say.
‘A piece of dust.’
Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, ‘So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you’re curing. They’re dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.’
And of course Buddy wouldn’t have any answer to that, because what I said was true. People were made of nothing so much as dust, and I couldn’t see that doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing poems people would remember and repeat to themselves when they were unhappy or sick and couldn’t sleep.
Stichwörter: sylvia-plath the-bell-jar
If you dissect a bird / to diagram the tongue, / you'll cut the chord / articulating song.
Sylvia PlathStichwörter: sylvia-plath birds
We are not what we might be; what we are / Outlaws all extrapolation / Beyond the interval of now and here: / White whales are gone with the white ocean.
Sylvia PlathStichwörter: sylvia-plath poems whales
I need more than anything right now what is, of course, most impossible, someone to love me, to be with me at night when I wake up in shuddering horror and fear of the cement tunnels leading down to the shock room, to comfort me with an assurance that no psychiatrist can quite manage to convey.
Sylvia PlathStichwörter: fear love hope sylvia-plath the-bell-jar comfort
« erste vorherige
Seite 2 von 4.
nächste letzte »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.