Suicide Carries In Its Aftermath A Level

Suicide Carries In Its Aftermath A Level Of Confusion And Devastation That Is, For The Most Part, Beyond Description.

Others Would Say To Me, 'it Is Only Temporary, It Will Pass, You Will Get Over It,' But Of Course They Had No Idea How I Felt, Although They Were Certain That They Did. Over And Over And Over I Would Say To Myself, If I Can't Feel, If I Can't Move, If I Can't Think, And I Can't Care, Then What Conceivable Point Is There In Living?

The Rites Of Passage In The Academic World Are Arcane And, In Their Own Way, Highly Romantic, And The Tensions And Unplesantries Of Dissertations And Final Oral Examinations Are Quickly Forgotten In The Wonderful Moment Of The Sherry Afterward, Admission Into A Very Old Club, Parties Of Celebration, Doctoral Gowns, Academic Rituals, And Hearing For The First Time "dr.," Rather Than "miss" Jamison.

The Ancient Dialogue Between Reason And The Senses Is Almost Always More Interestingly And Passionately Resolved In Favor Of The Senses.

I Am By Temperament An Optimist, And I Thought From The Beginning That There Was Much To Be Written About Suicide That Was Strangely Heartening.