"Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand."
"On the train: staring hypnotized at the blackness outside the window, feeling the incomparable rhythmic language of the wheels, clacking out nursery rhymes, summing up moments of the mind like the chant of a broken record: god is dead, god is dead. going, going, going. and the pure bliss of this, the erotic rocking of the coach. France splits open like a ripe fig in the mind; we are raping the land, we are not stopping."
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Source: Sylvia Plath (2013). “The Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.94, Anchor
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