I couldn't stand it. I still can't stand it. I can't stand the way things are. I cannot tolerate this age.

Since grief only aggravates your loss, grieve not for what is past.

You live in a deranged age, more deranged than usual because in spite of great scientific and technological advances, man has not the faintest idea of who he is or what he is doing.

Home may be where the heart is but it's no place to spend Wednesday afternoon.

The difference between a non-suicide and an ex-suicide leaving the house for work, at eight o'clock on an ordinary morning: The non-suicide is a little traveling suck of care, sucking care with him from the past and being sucked toward care in the future. His breath is high in his chest. The ex-suicide opens his front door, sits down on the steps, and laughs. Since he has the option of being dead, he has nothing to lose by being alive. It is good to be alive. He goes to work because he doesn't have to.

Classes? Categories? Was that what we had come to?

To become aware of the possibility of the search is to be onto something.