Wounds, I think, are never confined to a single skin but reach out to rasp us all. — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
“When you die, there’s that much less breath to the world, and across continents someone supposedly separate gasps for air. When Marie, Joseph, peter,… — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
“When I was a girl I loved fevers and flus and the muzzy feeling of a head cold, all these states carrying with them… — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
“Why doesn't passionate love last? how is it possible to see a person as beautiful on Monday, and 364 days later, on another Monday, to see that beauty as bland? surely the object of your affection could not have changed that much. she still has the same shaped eyes. her voice has always had that husky sound, but now it… — Lauren Slater Copy Share
“... instead of spelling stories you spread silence, which was outside the alphabet.” — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
“Finally the dawn came, the sky fringed with pink, and the sun bright as a coin in a spill of rising red.” — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
“How do you describe emptiness? Is it the air inside a bubble, the darkness in a pocket, snow? I think, yes, I was six… — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
Everyone knows that a lot of memoirs have made-up scenes; it's obvious. And everyone knows that half the time at least fictions contain literal… — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
Are psychiatric crises so overwhelming to the mind that they inhibit the presence of ethics? Is depression at root an amoral phenomenon, its focus… — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
“I had lived my life by these kinds of banners, only now, searching the sentence, I found little in it that resonated deep in… — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
Much has been said about the meanings we make of illness, but what about the meanings we make out of cure? Cure is complex,… — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
“I believe my strength has something to do with memory, with that concept of fluid time. For while I recall with clarity the terror of abuse, I also recall the green and lovely dream of childhood, the moist membrane of a leaf against my nose, the toads that peeled a golden pool in the palm of my hand. Pleasures, pleasures,… — Lauren Slater Copy Share
“I couldn’t reach her. I was never able to reach her. Maybe she moved at a pace too fast. Maybe she was too sad.… — Lauren Slater Copy Share Image
