“Then," he says, "as my mind got functioning, everything was just beautiful. There was no right or wrong feeling, no social pressure. I believe that's what heaven's going to be like..."p 55”

“I believe that everything that you do bad comes back to you. So everything that I do that's bad, I'm going to suffer from it. But in my mind, I believe what I'm doing is right. So I feel like I'm going to heaven”

“He was soppy! He went along with everything! I'd say what about this or what about that, and he'd always say yes. It didn't matter what I said. It was always the same answer. He gave into everything. You can't have that in a man. I like people to stand up for themselves. They've got to have their own opinion, know their own mind. I could tell it was going nowhere. I couldn't be with him. We weren't right for each other. When I broke it off, he was baffled and broken. He cried and asked how he'd wronged me. But he hadn't done anything wrong; he just wasn't the right one”

“It’s strange,” I say, rubbing my feet against his. “I feel like I should be sad, but I’m not. It’s not that I won’t miss you, but it just feels like-”“Like everything is going to be okay anyway,” he says, finishing my thought.”

“To me the great divide is between the talkative and the quiet. Do they just say everything that's on their minds, even before it's on their minds? Sometimes I think I could just turn up my head like a Walkman so what's going on there could be heard by others. But there would still be a difference. For inside the head they are talking to people like them, and I am talking to someone like me: he is quiet and doesn't much like being talked at; he can't conceal how easily he gets bored.”

“still, what could i say? that i didn't just feel depressed - instead, it was like the depression was the core of me, of every part of me, from my mind to my bones? that if he got blue, i got black? that i hated those pills so much, because i knew how much i relied on them to live?”