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.

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.

I am not a nurse escorting six lunatics to the ice cream parlor.

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

My family had a lot of characteristics - achievements, ambitions, talents, expectations - that all seemed to be recessive in me.

It was a spring day, the sort that gives people hope: all soft winds and delicate smells of warm earth. Suicide weather.

Scar tissue has no character. It's not like skin. It doesn't show age or illness or pallor or tan. It has no pores, no hair, no wrinkles. It's like a slip cover. It shields and disguises what's beneath. That's why we grow it; we have something to hide.