"if the moon smiled, she would resemble you. you leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating."

"a door opens, a door shuts. in between you have had a glimpse: a garden, a person, a rainstorm, a dragonfly, a heart, a city. i think of those round glass victorian paperweights … a clear globe, self-complete, very pure, with a forest or village or family group within it. you turn it upside down, then back. it snows. everything is changed in a minute. it will never be the same in there – not the fir trees, nor the gables, nor the faces. so a poem takes place."
- sylvia plath.

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