بریده‌ای از کتاب The bell jar اثر Sylvia Plath

i knew i should be grateful [...], only i couldn't feel a thing. if [they] had given me a ticket to europe, or a round-the-world cruise, it wouldn't have made one scrap of difference to me. because wherever i sat-on the desk of a ship or at a street cafe in paris or bangkok-i would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.