The Bell Jar

Al radicalmente honesto universo de Sylvia Plath en The Bell Jar es difícil entrar, no hay ventanas.

At first I wondered why the room felt so safe. Then I realise it was because there were no windows.

[…]

The reason I hadn’t washed my clothes or my hair was because it seemed so silly.

I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade.

[…]

It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next.

It made me tired just to think of it.

I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.

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