Tags » Bell Jar
Always with a book in my hand, that is the way I lived most of my life. I believed that
I was to be outside of the circle of life and that was my role, the observer. 589 more words
To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.
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If Mrs. Guinea had given me a ticket to Europe, or a round-the-world cruise, it wouldn’t have made one scrap of difference to me, because wherever I sat–on the deck of a ship or at a street cafe in Paris or Bangkok–I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.