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

Belief is a good thing in principle, but an annoying thing in human beings.

I was so scared to give up depression, fearing that somehow the worst part of me was actually all of me.

Am I worried people will say I'm repeating myself? Sure. One thought I had was to publish it as a novel but eventually I just decided to do what I wanted to do.

If you take someone's thoughts and feelings away, bit by bit, consistantly, they then have nothing left except some gritty, gnawing, shitty little instinct, down there, somewhere, worming around in the gut, but so far down, so hidden, it's impossible to find.

I thought depression was the part of my character that made me worthwhile. I thought so little of myself, felt that I had such scant offerings to give to the world, that the one thing that justified my existence at all was my agony.

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