I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people that I want and live all the lives that I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.
I find myself feeling this way quite frequently. I guess that this is a big part of WHY I love Sylvia Plath oh-so-very much.