Nothing Good Comes Out Of Depression.

The Chinese Believe That Before You Can Conquer A Beast You First Must Make It Beautiful. In Some Strange Way, I Have Tried To Do That With Manic-depressive Illness. It Has Been A Fascinating, Albeit Deadly, Enemy And Companion; I Have Found It To Be Seductively Complicated, A Distillation Both Of What Is Finest In Our Natures, And Of What Is Most Dangerous.

In Depression, Your Capacity To Feel Just Flattens And Disappears And What You Feel Is Pain And A Kind Of Pain That You Can't Describe To Anybody. So It's An Isolating Pain, A Completely Isolating Pain.

Moods Are Such An Essential Part Of The Substance Of Life, Of One's Notion Of Oneself, That Even Psychotic Extremes In Mood And Behavior Somehow Can Be Seen As Temporary, Even Understandable, Reactions To What Life Has Dealt.

I Had A Terrible Temper, After All, And Though It Rarely Erupted, When It Did It Frightened Me And Anyone Near Its Epicenter. It Was The Only Crack, But A Disturbing One, In The Otherwise Vacuum-sealed Casing Of My Behavior.

One Of The Advantages Of Science Is That One's Work, Ultimately, Is Either Replicated Or It Is Not.