Sylvia Plath Quotes About Summer
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Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.
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My thoughts are crabbed and sallow, My tears like vinegar, Or the bitter blinking yellow Of an acetic star. Tonight the caustic wind, love, Gossips late and soon, And I wear the wry-faced pucker of The sour lemon moon. While like an early summer plum, Puny, green, and tart, Droops upon its wizened stem My lean, unripened heart.
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I don't know how long I kept at it... I felt reasonably safe, streched out on the floor, and lay quite still. It didn't seem to be summer any more
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August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
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