Whenever we got a glimpse, their faces looked indecently revealed, as though we were used to seeing women in veils.

That was the deal basically: catatonia without; frenzy within

Household objects lost meaning. A bedside clock became a hunk of molded plastic, telling something called time, in a world marking it's passage for some reason.

Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness", "joy", or "regret". Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that is oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions.

That was when Leonard realized something crucial about depression. The smarter you were, the worse it was. The sharper your brain, the more it cut you up.

Children learn to speak Male or Female the way they learn to speak English or French.

Their desire was silent yet magnificent, like a thousand daisies attuning their faces toward the path of the sun.