“Nothing is real except the present, and already I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash come and are gone, continiuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.”
— Sylvia Plath (via thechocolatebrigade)

→ Jan 12 2012 / PERMALINK

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