Perfectionism means that you try not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived.

The whistle is always waiting to be blown, and in some ways, it gets me to do better work.

Trying to reason with an addict was like trying to blow out a lightbulb.

I took notes on the people around me, in my town, in my family, in my memory. I took notes on my own state of mind, my grandiosity, the low self-esteem. I wrote down the funny stuff I overheard. I learned to be like a ship's rat, veined ears trembling, and I learned to scribble it all down.

I used to love to untangle chains when I was a child. I had thin, busy fingers, and I never gave up. Perhaps there was a psychiatric component to my concentration but like much of my psychic damage, this worked to everyone's advantage.

You get your intuition back when you make space for it, when you stop the chattering of the rational mind.

I'd like to learn to meditate with more enthusiasm. I can sit down and get quiet for 20 minutes, but it just has not been a part of my Christianity at all.