"Did that beauty make you? Did that beauty make me? Will that make me something? Will I be something? Am I something? The answer comes: …

"How did I know that someday—at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere—the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?"

where i don't want to be    is happiness a thought or feeling? or does it fall like snow and eventually cover everything?