Home » Quote » Sylvia Plath » „p> Now your head, excuse me, is empty.I have the ticket for that.Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.Well, what do you think of that?Naked as paper to startBut in twenty-five years she’ll be silver,In fifty, gold.A living doll, everywhere you look.It can sew, it can cook,It can talk, talk, talk.It works, there is nothing wrong with it.You have a hole, it’s a poultice.You have an eye, it’s an image.My boy, it’s your last resort.Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.
„p> Now your head, excuse me, is empty.I have the ticket for that.Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.Well, what do you think of that?Naked as paper to startBut in twenty-five years she’ll be silver,In fifty, gold.A living doll, everywhere you look.It can sew, it can cook,It can talk, talk, talk.It works, there is nothing wrong with it.You have a hole, it’s a poultice.You have an eye, it’s an image.My boy, it’s your last resort.Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.
