For all of my life I have needed more.

I want to explain how exhausted I am. Even in my dreams. How I wake up tired. How I’m being drowned by some kind of black wave.

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

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

In my case, I was not frightened in the least bit at the thought that I might live because I was certain, quite certain, that I was already dead.

Everything's plastic, we're all gonna die.

I start to think there really is no cure for depression, that happiness is an ongoing battle, and I wonder if it isn't one I'll have to fight for as long as I live. I wonder if it's worth it.