How beautiful would it be to find someone who’s in love with your mind.
I am nothing. I’m like someone who’s been thrown into the ocean at night, floating all alone. I reach out, but no one is there. I call out, but no one answers. I have no connection to anything.
…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me. Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh has gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence. Of the millions, I, too, was potentially everything at birth.
Sylvia Plath, from The Journals of Sylvia Plath
You are not a sweetheart; you are a disaster that happens to be lovely
My fear of life is necessary to me, as is my illness. Without anxiety and illness, I am a ship without a rudder. My art is grounded in reflections over being different from others. My sufferings are part of my self and my art. They are indistinguishable from me, and their destruction would destroy my art. I want to keep those sufferings
في الفراق، رغم الكلام، لا نشعر بأنفسنا مرغمين على أن نتشارك كل شيئ. في الفراق، يبدأ النقصان، و تصبح الأحاجي عاديةَ إن لم تحل و تكتمل, يتطبّع الاهتمام و اللا اهتمام
Each relationship between two persons is absolutely unique. That is why you cannot love two people the same. It simply is not possible. You love each person differently because of who they are and the uniqueness that they draw out of you.