After they had explored all the suns in the universe, and all the planets of all the suns, they realized there was no other life in the universe, and that they were alone. And they were very happy, because then they knew it was up to them to become all the things they had imagined they would find.

My life's actually been quite dull; it's not all that glamorous.

Years of depression have robbed me of that—well, that give, that elasticity that everyone else calls perspective.

How can you hide from what never goes away? --Heraclitus

Depression is about as close as you get to somewhere between dead and alive, and it's the worst.

I'd really like to write a book about Timothy McVeigh, but it would only work if he cooperated.

I wonder if any of them can tell from just looking at me that all I am is the sum total of my pain, a raw woundedness so extreme that it might be terminal. It might be terminal velocity, the speed of the sound of a girl falling down to a place from where she can't be retrieved. What if I am stuck down here for good?