Tonight, utterly mad with this solitude.
Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Olive Higgins Prouty wr. c. September 1962
Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Olive Higgins Prouty wr. c. September 1962
"In life you don’t rise up, you go down. She couldn’t anymore. She could not get down to where I was … There was too much night for her around me."
Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Journey to the End of Night, 1932
Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Journey to the End of Night, 1932
On Valentine's Day of 1884, just 36 hours after the birth of their only daughter, Alice, 25-year-old future U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt held his young wife in his arms as she passed away from undiagnosed Bright's disease. Incredibly, just hours before, in the same house, he had already said a final goodbye to his mother, Martha. She had succumbed to Typhoid, aged just 48.
Theodore's diary for that day read as follows.
Theodore's diary for that day read as follows.