In these flashes of insight, I understand for a moment that one of the great dividends of darkness is an increased sensitivity to the light.

The bottom line is that my life has already almost slipped away from me. I have two choices: I can end it or I can fight like hell to save it.

It's enough just to speak when spoken to, to give some minimal reaction to a stimulus. But to actually be the stimulus doesn't even occur to me.

The body remembers what your mind forgets.

The infinity of this vacancy, the pervasive pain, the longing for some spirit, some lightness, some joy - that's all that is left.

Psychologists call it "free-floating" anxiety. What contradictory words. Anxiety doesn't free-float. It stalks. It attacks. It lands on you with a thud.

Some struggles are so solitary that they drown in words.

Sometimes hell has no words.

I always feel bad laughing at people who act crazy. But sometimes the things they do are so damned funny. I wonder what I'd look like if I slipped a few notches on the mental-health index.

None of us have true freedom because every one of us has to conform.

You are only given one life, one chance at fully living it...take risks, believe in your dreams, explore the world and her people, live out loud!

You're from the future, Mr Netherton?""Not exactly, " he said. "I'm in the future that would result from my not being here. But since I am, it isn't your future. Here.

He that by the Plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive.

Whoever despises himself still esteems the despiser within himself.

Hunger (for things) is the supreme disease.

The culture will not be able to persist in light of the rigid systems of its own innocence.

Some days you exist like the last speaker of an extinct language. These are the silences that litter the heart.

When you show up to speak publically, you have to show up to give. You always know the ones who do and the ones who don't.