Psychologists call it "free-floating" anxiety. What contradictory words. Anxiety doesn't free-float. It stalks. It attacks. It lands on you with a thud.

The bottom line is that my life has already almost slipped away from me. I have two choices: I can end it or I can fight like hell to save it.

It's enough just to speak when spoken to, to give some minimal reaction to a stimulus. But to actually be the stimulus doesn't even occur to me.

The body remembers what your mind forgets.

In these flashes of insight, I understand for a moment that one of the great dividends of darkness is an increased sensitivity to the light.

The infinity of this vacancy, the pervasive pain, the longing for some spirit, some lightness, some joy - that's all that is left.

Some struggles are so solitary that they drown in words.

Sometimes hell has no words.

I always feel bad laughing at people who act crazy. But sometimes the things they do are so damned funny. I wonder what I'd look like if I slipped a few notches on the mental-health index.

To give life to yourself is to become a person you are potentially and realize your potential

Courage leads starward fear toward death.

Solvency is entirely a matter of temperament not of income.

I predicted in August that Celtic would reach the final. On the eve of that final I stand by that prediction.

It's absurd that we're so quick to criticize Muslims for being fundamentalist when Christians can be just as extreme and fanatical and frightening.

I'm very interested in how idealistic young people can get caught up in all sorts of systems of extreme belief, you know, whether it's cults or whether it's suicide bombers.

Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.

The cynic says, "One man can't do anything". I say, "Only one man can do anything."

I'm no liar. I could have been wrong, but I ended up not being [wrong]. But I'm no liar.

Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.