Everything people did seemed so silly, because they only died in the end.

Life has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and joie de vivre and shocks of beauty together with some hurtful self-questioning.

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

I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.

I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas.

A ring of gold with the sun in it? Lies. Lies and a grief.

The man creates a pseudonym and hides behind it like a worm