I think that one of the compelling themes of fiction is this confrontation between good and evil.
my brain had begun to endure its familiar siege: panic and dislocation, and a sense that my thought processes were being engulfed by a toxic and unnameable tide that obliterated any enjoyable response to the living world.
I think it's unfortunate to have critics for friends.
Reading - the best state yet to keep absolute loneliness at bay.
It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul.
I felt a kind of numbness, an enervation, but more particularly an odd fragility - as if my body had actually become frail, hypersensitive and somehow disjointed and clumsy, lacking normal coordination. And soon I was in the throes of a pervasive hypochondria.