It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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And so it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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Snake, a clearer version of Volume 34.
Supports his foot. He pipes a world of snakes, / Of sways and coilings, from the snake-rooted bottom / Of his mind. And now nothing but snakes / Is visible. The snake-scales have become / Leaf, become eyelid; snake-bodies, bough, breast / Of tree and human. And he within this snakedom / Rules the writhings which make manifest / His snakehood and his might with pliant tunes / From his thin pipe. Out of this green nest… (Sylvia Plath)
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