Each state of life has its special duties; by their accomplishments one may find happiness.
. . . All I want to talk about is the oncoming apocalypse in my brain.
That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful.
Some friends don't understand this. They don't understand how desperate I am to have someone say, I love you and I support you just the way you are because you're wonderful just the way you are. They don't understand that I can't remember anyone ever saying that to me. I am so demanding and difficult for my friends because I want to crumble and fall apart before them so that they will love me even though I am no fun, lying in bed, crying all the time, not moving. Depression is all about If you loved me you would.
. . . if you feel everything intensely, ultimately you feel nothing at all.
Depression is a lot like that: slowly, over the years, the data will accumulate in your heart and mind, a computer program for total negativity will build into your system, making life feel more and more unbearale. But you won't even notice it coming on, thinking that it is somehow normal, something about getter older, about turning eight or about turning twelve or turning fifteeen, and then one day you realize that your entire life is just awful, not worth living, a horror and a black blot on the white terrain of human existence. One morning you wake up afraid you are going to live.
I want to explain how exhausted I am. Even in my dreams. How I wake up tired. How I’m being drowned by some kind of black wave.
You bet I arrived overnight. Over a few hundred nights in the Catskills, in vaudeville, in clubs and on Broadway.
What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence. The question is what can you make people believe you have done.
I have a feeling that we have been placed on this earth for a special reason and although I have not fulfilled all my missions, I am trying.
If you have infinite patience and perseverance, success is bound to come. No mistake in that.