I remember sitting in his office a hundred times during those grim months and each time thinking, What on earth can he say that will make me feel better or keep me alive? Well, there never was anything he could say, that's the funny thing. It was all the stupid, desperately optimistic, condescending things he didn't say that kept me alive; all the compassion and wamrth I felt from him that could not have been said; all the intelligence, competence, and time he put into it; and his granite belief that mine was a life worth living.

Which of my feelings are real? Which of the me's is me? The wild, impulsive, chaotic, energetic, and crazy one? Or the shy, withdrawn, desperate, suicidal, doomed, and tired one? Probably a bit of both, hopefully much that is neither.

One of the advantages of science is that one's work, ultimately, is either replicated or it is not.

Confidentiality is an ancient and well-warranted social value.

Knowledge is marvelous, but wisdom is even better.

But, with time, one has encountered many of the monsters, and one is increasingly less terrified of those still to be met.

Look to the living, love them, and hold on.