The Bell Jar

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree of history.

At the tip of each branch, like a fat, purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband, a happy home and children, another was a famous and renowned poet, another was a brilliant teacher, another was Europe, Africa and South America, another was Constantine and Socrates and Attila and other various lovers with exotic names and eccentric professions, another was an Olympic champion. And, above these figs, there were many others. I couldn't go on. I found myself sitting on the fork of the fig tree, starving, just because I couldn't choose between one of the figs. I would like to devour them all, but choosing one meant losing all the others. Maybe wanting everything means wanting nothing. Then, as I sat there, unable to choose, the figs began to shrivel and turn black and, one by one, fall to the ground at my feet.

- Sylvia Plath