He told me his tan came from playing tennis, and when we were sitting there side by side flying down the streets in the open sun he took my hand & squeezed it, and I felt happier than I had been since I was about nine & was running along the hot white beaches with my father the summer before he died.
-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
The extent to which I identified with this book kind of frightened me.
Everything she said was like a secret voice speaking straight out of my own bones.
I couldn't fall asleep for a few hours last night, and the moving shadows the trees were casting on my wall looked like skeletons dancing with each other. At some point in my life, I would really like to go to Mexico for el Día de los Muertos. Venice for Carnevale was pretty impressive.