My chronic feelings of emptiness and boredom came from the fact that I was living a life based on my incapacities, which were numerous.

For many of us, the hospital was as much a refuge as it was a prison. Though we were cut off from the world and all the trouble we enjoyed stirring up out there, we were also cut off from the demands and expectations that had driven us crazy. What could be expected of us now that we were stowed away in a loony bin?

The debate was wearing me out. Once you've posed that question, it won't go away. I think many people kill themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or they won't. Anything I thought or did was immediately drawn into the debate. Made a stupid remark--why not kill myself? Missed the bus--better put an end to it all. Even the good got in there. I liked that movie--maybe I shouldn't kill myself.

You have to have a somewhat cold heart to be a writer.

It's one of the reasons I became a writer, to be able to smoke in peace.

An observer can't tell if a person is silent and still because inner life has stalled or because inner life is transfixingly busy.

With wild eyes that had seen freedom.