Sylvia Plath Quotes About Rain
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I woke to the sound of rain.
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Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: 'After a heavy rainfall, poems titled 'Rain' pour in from across the nation.
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I laid my face to the smooth face of the marble and howled my loss into the cold salt rain.
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God, if ever I have come close to wanting to commit suicide, it is now, with the groggy sleepless blood dragging through my veins, and the air thick and gray with rain ... I fell into bed again this morning, begging for sleep, withdrawing into the dark, warm, fetid escape from action, from responsibility. No good.
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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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