Sophia

“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 appear again?”
― Sylvia Plath

“Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, 'Do you know what a poem is, Esther?' 'No, what?' I would say. 'A piece of dust.' Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, 'So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you're curing. They're dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.”
― Sylvia Plath

“Religious fervor whipped the churches into a frenzy, and I often heard people talking in hushed whispers about the end of days when I slipped into the chapel to pray in the evening. My piety was a sporadic, haalf-feral thing, sometimes lashing out at God with teeth baed, other times nuzzling against His loving providence like a kitten, but prayer steadied me. Whether I was talking to myself or something more, it brought me peace. The world we had all known, it seemed, was drawing to a close.”
― S.T. Gibson

“The world we think we see is only our best guess”
― Margaret Atwood