Sarah

“What egotism, what stupid vanity, to suppose that a thing could not happen because you could not conceive of it.”
― Edwin Balmer

“You are a cesspit of moral filth.”
― Philip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass

“The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle : they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.”
― Sylvia Plath

“I am sure I have summer depression; the heat makes me instantly regret being alive.”
― Michelle Franklin, I Hate Summer: My tribulations with seasonal depression, anxiety, plumbers, spiders, neighbours, and the world.