What is love like for you? is a question I am not finding a way to ask as the dark thrill miles go ghosting by and old Earth begins turning toward her meteor showers of midsummer. Watching the edge of his face in the dark, something comes at me. You. Thrill. You.
—  Anne Carson,  “Just for the Thrill: Essay on the Difference Between Men and Women,” The Anthropology of Water, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry
Did you see her mother on television? She said plain, burned things. She said I thought it an excellent poem but it hurt me. She did not say jungle fear. She did not say jungle hatred wild jungle weeping chop it back chop it. She said self-government she said end of the road. She did not say humming in the middle of the air what you came for chop.
—  Anne Carson,  “On Sylvia Plath,” Small Talks, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry