The voices in my head, which I used to think were just passing through, seem to have taken up residence.

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

It's like Samson and Delilah: watch your back, because trouble could be the person you're sleeping with.

Taking a hypersensitive approach to life had come to seem so much more pure and honest then joining the ranks of the numb masses who could let it all slide by. What I stopped realizing was that if you feel everything intensely, ultimately you feel nothing at all. Everything registers at the same decibel.

I guess I realize that I don't want to die. I don't want to live either, but-there really isn't anything in-between. Depression is about as close as you get to somewhere between dead and alive, and it's the worst. But since the tendency toward inertia means that it's easier for me to stay alive than die, I guess that's how it's going to be, so I guess I should try to be happy.

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

Sometimes it feels like we're all living in a Prozac nation. The United States of Depression.