I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there unable to decide the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they popped to the ground at my feet.
Sylvia PlathAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: October 27, 1932
- Died: February 11, 1963