Others Would Say To Me, 'it Is

I Think That When You're Depressed, You Can't Concentrate Long Enough And Well Enough To Read For The Most Part; Some People Can, But By And Large People - That's One Of The First Things That Goes, Is The Capacity To Read Meaningful Literature. With Grief, That's Not True. For A While You Can't Read, But Then You Really Are Amenable To Solace.

Nature Is The First Tutor. No One Remains Untouched Or Unschooled By The Earth, Seasons, And Heavens.

It Was As If My Father Had Given Me, By Way Of Temperament, An Impossibly Wild, Dark, And Unbroken Horse. It Was A Horse Without A Name, And A Horse With No Experience Of A Bit Between Its Teeth. My Mother Taught Me To Gentle It; Gave Me The Discipline And Love To Break It; And- As Alexander Had Known So Intuitively With Bucephalus- She Understood, And Taught Me, That The Beast Was Best Handled By Turning It Toward The Sun.

Others Would Say To Me, 'it Is Only Temporary, It Will Pass, You Will Get Over It,' But Of Course They Had No Idea How I Felt, Although They Were Certain That They Did. Over And Over And Over I Would Say To Myself, 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 An Assumption, In Attaching Puritan Concepts Such As 'successful' And 'unsuccessful' To The Awful, Final Act Of Suicide, That Those Who 'fail' At Killing Themselves Not Only Are Weak, But Incompetent, Incapable Even Of Getting Their Dying Quite Right.