The Pursuit Of Knowledge Is An Intoxicant,

Manic-depression Distorts Moods And Thoughts, Incites Dreadful Behaviors, Destroys The Basis Of Rational Thought, And Too Often Erodes The Desire And Will To Live. It Is An Illness That Is Biological In Its Origins, Yet One That Feels Psychological In The Experience Of It, An Illness That Is Unique In Conferring Advantage And Pleasure, Yet One That Brings In Its Wake Almost Unendurable Suffering And, Not Infrequently, Suicide.

I Was Late To Understand That Chaos And Intensity Are No Subsitute For Lasting Love, Nor Are They Necessarily An Improvement On Real Life. Normal People Are Not Always Boring. On The Contrary. Volatility And Passion, Although Often More Romantic And Enticing, Are Not Intrinsically Preferable To A Steadiness Of Experience And Feeling About Another Person.

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?

There Is A Particular Kind Of Pain, Elation, Loneliness And Terror Involved In This Kind Of Madness... It Will Never End, For Madness Carves Its Own Reality.

As Best I Could Make Out, Having Never Heard The Term Until I Arrived In California, Being A Wasp Meant Being Mossbacked, Lockjawed, Rigid, Humorless, Cold, Charmless, Insipid, Less Than Penetratingly Bright, But Otherwise---and Inexplicably---to Be Envied.