" I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No, it was the poetry. A spark flew off Arnold and shook me, like a chill. I wanted to cry; I felt very odd. I had fallen into a new way of being happy. "

― Sylvia Plath , Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams: Short Stories, Prose and Diary Excerpts