I notice when I'm on these trips, I read like mad. It's the only thing that seems to center me, bring me back to remembering who I am. Or forgetting who I am!

Depending on the reality one must face, one may prefer to opt for illusion.

Autonomy is the whole thing; it's what unhappy people are missing. They have given the power to run their lives to other people.

Two separate, distinct personalities, not separate at all, but inextricably bound, soul and body and mind, to each other, how did we get so far apart so fast?

Depression is not sobbing and crying and giving vent, it is plain and simple reduction of feeling.

I can write for a long time on one novel and not get tired.

I think living the blessed life is the luck of the draw.