Tomorrow Is Another Day Toward Death.

Let Me Live, Love And Say It Well In Good Sentences.

And I, Stepping From This Skin Of Old Bandages, Boredoms, Old Faces Step To You From The Black Car Of Lethe, Pure As A Baby.

The Silence Depressed Me. It Wasn't The Silence Of Silence. It Was My Own Silence.

My Worst Habit Is My Fear & My Destructive Rationalizing.

But I Wasn't Sure. I Wasn't Sure At All. How Did I Know That Someday―at College, In Europe, Somewhere, Anywhere―the Bell Jar, With Its Stifling Distortions, Wouldn't Descend Again?