She said, normally people at this level of depression are dead by your age.

He was currently drinking a fine “blended whisky”—mixed bottom-of-bottle dregs of bourbon, vodka, vermouth, and fernet-branca.

The notes and sketches were without exception more interesting than the final product.

God regrets to announce that he is wiping us off the face of the earth.

The self-consciously Dad things you attempted to pass on to your family—arbitrary techniques, fetishistic naming of parts and categories, unexamined dictums—mattered less than the unacknowledged resentment, grievance, and rage.

Only through cat gifs can we subdue our fear of death.

Drawing: a record of its own making.

Far too finely wrought to be good.

Always never not letting go.

Life slips through your fingers and comes back together somewhere else. You’re God-intoxicated. Or maybe just intoxicated.

We are required to assume the psychological burdens of our economic benefactors.

And then, gradually, fear becomes your way of life.

Jesus loves me but you can barely stand being in the same room.

I already had those side effects before taking the medication.

So far below an acceptable standard that it doesn’t even qualify as failure.