Carmen

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people's eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“Juan. «¿Es que te falta algo? Dime.» (Pausa) «¡Contesta!»

Yerma. (Con intención y mirando fijamente al marido.) «Sí, me falta.»

[…] Juan. «Entonces, ¿qué quieres hacer?»

Yerma. «Quiero beber agua y no hay vaso ni agua; quiero subir al monte y no tengo pies; quiero bordar mis enaguas y no encuentro los hilos.»

Juan. «Lo que pasa es que no eres una mujer verdadera y buscas la ruina de un hombre sin voluntad.»

Yerma. «Yo no sé quién soy. Déjame andar y desahogarme. En nada te he faltado»”
― Federico García Lorca, Yerma