Tell me that you don’t take that blade and drag it across your skin and pray for the courage to press down.
On top of the bookcase were several Mexican papier-mâché figures of people with knives stuck through their heads and blood running down their faces...I found these comforting...They looked happy enoug...
Just to get through life was no ambition. It was the opposite of ambition.
It's a fairly accurate portrait of me at eighteen, minus a few quirks like reckless driving and eating binges. It's accurate but it isn't profound.
I think many people ill themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or they won't.
I got better and Daisy didn't and I can't explain why. Maybe I was just flirting with madness the way I flirted with my teachers and my classmates. I wasn't convinced I was crazy, though I feared I wa...
Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought your train moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy. Maybe it was th...
By the time we hit the streets they were silent and closed in on us, and they had assumed the Nonchalant Look, an expression that said, I am not a nurse escorting six lunatics to the ice cream parlor....
As far as I could see, life demanded skills I didn't have.
Imagined my character as a plate or shirt that had been manufactured incorrectly and was therefore useless.
What does borderline personality mean, anyhow? It appears to be a way station between neurosis and psychosis: a fractured but not disassembled psyche. Though to quote my post-Melvin psychiatrist: It's...
Reality was getting too dense.
Made a stupid remark—why not kill myself? Missed the bus—better put an end to it all. Even the good got in there. I liked that movie—maybe I shouldn’t kill myself.
Twenty-five chocolate chip cookies would be the perfect dinner.
There is thought, and then there is thinking about thoughts, and they don't feel the same.
The girl at her music sits in another sort of light,the fitful,overcast light of lie,by which we see ourselves and others only imprefectly, and seldom..-Girl,Interrupted
Something about the goat dancing made me want to cry.
Il tessuto della cicatrice non ha carattere.Non è come la pelle. Non rivela età,malattia, pallore, o colorito. Non ha pori,né peli, né rughe. È come una fodera.Protegge e maschera quello che c’è sotto...
If I who was previously revolting am now this far from my crazy self, how much further are you who were never revolting, and how much deeper your revulsion?
Thus, our keepers. As for finders—well, we had to be our own finders.