It was the first time that we had sort of articulated our major problem. She wanted to die and I wanted her to live and we were enemies who loved each other.

I learned another thing, which is that just because someone is eating the ashes of your protagonist doesn't mean you stop telling the story.

She was becoming sad. There is no joy involved in following others' expectations of yourself

It bothered me in a kind of Charles Manson way to have a brown smear of blood on my wall but I also liked it because every time I looked at it I was reminded that I was, at that very moment, not bleeding from my face. And those are powerful words of hope, really.

There are no windows within the dark house of depression through which to see others, only mirrors.

Her faith in a loving and forgiving God is strong, but she worships laughter.

If you have to end up in the hospital, try to focus all your pain in your heart rather than your head.