Knowing one was comprised of recycled matter only and that selfhood was a delusion did not take away the aching of the heart.

Knowing one was comprised of recycled matter only and that selfhood was a delusion did not take away the aching of the heart.

From an early age she had developed the art of being alone and generally preferred her own company to anyone else’s. She read books at enormous speed and judged them entirely on her ability to remove her from her material surroundings. In almost all the unhappiest days of her life she had been able to escape from her own inner world by living temporarily in someone else’s, and on the two or three occasions that she had been too upset to concentrate she had been desolate.

Inhale and hold the evening in your lungs.

It's better to have a malign providence than an indifferent one.

If you have only one life, you cant altogether ignore the question: are you enjoying it?

Depression - that limp word for the storm of black panic and half-demented malfunction - had over the years worked itself out in Charlotte's life in a curious pattern. Its onset was often imperceptible: like an assiduous housekeeper locking up a rambling mansion, it noiselessly went about and turned off, one by one, the mind's thousand small accesses to pleasure.