Sylvia Says:

"I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but chosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one... by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet". -Sylvia Plath