"This hurts. Not being perfect hurts. Having to bother about work in order to eat and have a house hurts. So what. It's about time. This is the month which ends a quarter of a century for me, lived under the shadow of fear: fear that I would fall short of some abstract perfection: I have often fought, fought and won, not perfection, but an acceptance of myself as having a right to live on my own human, fallible terms. "1
1 From Sylvia Plath's Diary. Reprinted in The Norton Book of Women's Lives, 667.
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