I'd never chosen to be alone, but that was the way things had turned out, and I'd grown used to it.

I never for a moment considered killing myself, because it wouldn't have achieved anything.

The thought of all that happiness was hard to bear. What's the point of happiness when all it does is throw the facts of dying into clear relief?

The physical shock took away the pain of being.

Our own choices might not be as good as those that are made for us.

I don't find life unbearably grave. I find it almost intolerably frivolous.

I think closeness to death would be pretty exhilarating in a way, and friendship, yeh, and selflessness, a kind of selflessness, a sense of your own worthlessness, I think, is pretty exhilarating.