I had imagined a kind, ugly, intuitive man looking up and saying "Ah!" in an encouraging way, as if he could see something I couldn't and then I would find words to tell him how I was so scared, as I were being stuffed farther and farther into a black, airless sack with no way out. Then he would lean back in his chair and match the tips of his fingers together in a little steeple and tell me why I couldn't sleep and why I couldn't read and why I couldn't eat and why everything people did seemed so silly, because the only died in the end. And then, I thought, he would help me, step by step, to be myself again.
Sylvia PlathAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: October 27, 1932
- Died: February 11, 1963
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