The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.

I sank back in the gray, plush seat and closed my eyes. The air of the bell jar wadded round me and I couldn't stir.

I smile, now, thinking: we all like to think we are important enough to need psychiatrists

I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.

I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have.

I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.