The Reader Is A Friend, Not An

The World Was Ending Then, It's Ending Still, And I'm Happy To Belong To It Again.

The Pain Was Quite Extraordinary. And Yet Also Weirdly Welcome And Restorative, Bringing Him News Of His Aliveness And His Caughtness In A Story Larger Than Himself.

Popularity Has Become Its Own Justification.

He Couldn't Figure Out If She Was Immensely Well Adjusted Or Seriously Messed Up.

How Could I Have Thought That I Needed To Cure Myself In Order To Fit Into The 'real' World? I Didn't Need Curing, And The World Didn't, Either; The Only Thing That Did Need Curing Was My Understanding Of My Place In It. Without That Understanding - Without A Sense Of Belonging To The Real World - It Was Impossible To Thrive In An Imagined One.