Sometimes I wish I could walk around with a HANDLE WITH CARE sign stuck to my forehead.

As someone very sagely said during the parricide trials of the Menendez Brothers: anytime your kids kill you, you are at least partly to blame.

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

In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead

The measure of mindfulness, the touchstone for sanity in this society, is our level of productivity, our attention to responsibility, our ability to plain and simple hold down a job.

Everything's plastic, we're all going to die sooner or later, so what does it matter.

The desire to be seen as superior and singular- and, conversely, but similarly, inferior and individual, is a big topic...They have a term for the syndrome- it is called terminal uniqueness...we all refuse to be part of the crowd, to walk in the middle of the road in the safety of others. We all think were special. But the problem is, as I point out to Dr. Singer all the time, I actually am special.