If you can't get out of bed for long enough, people come and take your bed away

Misfortune is no excuse for cruelty.

Dad nods, looks me dead in the eyes; slowly and regretfully, he banishes all the smiling and joking from his face, and for once he's just my dad, watching his son who has fallen so low.

So now live for real, Craig. Live. Live. Live. Live.

I feel dead, wasted, awful, broken and useless. It's not the kind of feeling you forget.

It’s tough to get out of bed; I know that myself. You can lie there for an hour and a half without thinking anything, just worrying about what the day holds and knowing that you won’t be able to deal with it.

A working brain is probably a lot like a map, where anybody can get from one place to another on the freeways. It's the nonworking brains that get blocked, that have dead ends, that are under construction like mine.