This time I read the title of the painting: Girl Interrupted at Her Music. Interrupted at her music: as my life had been, interrupted in the music of being seventeen, as her life had been, snatched and fixed on canvas: one moment made to stand still and to stand for all the other moments, whatever they would be or might have been. What life can recover from that?

We say that Columbus discovered America and Newton discovered gravity, as though America and gravity weren't there until Columbus and Newton got wind of them.

It's a fairly accurate portrait of me at eighteen, minus a few quirks like reckless driving and eating binges. It's accurate but it isn't profound.

Being crasy doesn't mean to be broken...It is you and me amplified", Girl, Interrupted

Mental illness seems to be a communication problem between interpreters one and two.

What is it about meter and cadence and rhythm that makes their makers mad?

All my integrity seemed to lie in saying No.