The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.

Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing.

What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love?

And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.

Pretty soon, the only doubt in my mind was the precise time and method of committing suicide. The only alternative I could see was an eternity of hell for the rest of my life in a mental hospital, and I was going to use my last ounce of free choice and choose a quick clean ending.

Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.

The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.