Everything's plastic, we're all going to die sooner or later, so what does it matter.
I wasn't just the madwoman in the attic--I was the attic itself. The past was all over me, all under me, all inside me.
I start to get the feeling that something is really wrong.
In my case, I was not frightened in the least bit at the thought that I might live because I was certain, quite certain, that I was already dead.