“I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, this is what it is to be happy.”
More from Sylvia Plath
“The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
“Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.”
“What did my heart do, with its love?”
“And so it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.”