“I do not love; I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit. I have none of the selfless love of my mother. I have none of the plodding, practical love. . . . . I am, to be blunt and concise, in love only with myself, my puny being with its small inadequate breasts and meager, thin talents. I am capable of affection for those who reflect my own world.”
Sylvia Plath, The Journals Of Sylvia Plath
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We’re All Mad Inhere on Twitter
- @frochez @jacasiegel In opposite to the (not very funny or really place-appropriate) joke on those badges, this one… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 2 weeks ago
- @ellle_em This is awful. If all you care about is the kid’s grades, then be happy they’re good and leave him alone?… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 1 month ago
- @ellle_em But the kid is also not *at fault* for being unable to keep their space clean, nor for making a fuss; the… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 1 month ago
- @ellle_em I’ve seen so many posts of horrible parents burning/destroying/tossing out their kids’ stuff for not clea… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 1 month ago
- @ellle_em I’d say NAH; She’s obvi not wrong for feeling out of sorts, but neither were the parents for the cleaning… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 1 month ago
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We're All Mad Inhere 
I finally got around to reading “The Bell Jar.”