I felt myself no longer a husk but a body with some of the body's sweet juices stirring again. I had my first dream in many months, confused but to this day imperishable, with a flute in it somewhere, and a wild goose, and a dancing girl.

The stigma of self-inflicted death is for some people a hateful blot that demands erasure at all costs.

It's fine therapy for people who are perpetually scared of nameless threats as I am most of the time — for jittery people.

A great book should leave you with many experiences.

What I really mean is that a great book should leave you with many experiences, and slightly exhausted at the end. You live several lives while reading it.

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.

This was not judgment day - only morning. Morning: excellent and fair.