“I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.”
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.”