They thought depression was like bieng depressed. They thought it was like being in a bad mood, only worse. Therefore, they tried to get him to snap out of it.

Depression is like a bruise that never goes away. A bruise in your mind.

Something crucial about depression ... The smarter you were, the worse it was. The sharper your brain, the more it cut you up.

In Madeleine’s face was a stupidity Mitchell had never seen before. It was the stupidity of all normal people. It was the stupidity of the fortunate and the beautiful, of everybody who got what they wanted in life and so remained unremarkable.

We listened to them, but it was clear they’d received too much therapy to know the truth.

From an early age they knew what little value the world placed in books, and so didn’t waste their time with them. Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. The only trust fund I have is this story, and unlike a prudent Wasp, I’m dipping into principal, spending it all.

I never know what I feel until it’s too late.

I’m not really an autobiographical writer, though I use lots of stuff from my life to make my stories seem real. But when I actually write about myself, I get very confused.

Mitchell had answered that, as far as he understood them, mystical experiences were significant only to the extent that they changed a person’s conception of reality, and if that changed conception led to a change in behavior and action, a loss of ego.

It is wonderful barefoot in New York. It is like walking on one big giant tomb!