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-The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn't hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for all the good it did me.
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Literary Encyclopedia [link]
Great online collection of Plath's poetry [link]
sylviaplath.info [link]
sylviaplath.de [link]
Modern American Poetry [link]
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