Elizabeth Wurtzel
Elizabeth Wurtzel
Elizabeth Lee Wurtzel is an American writer and journalist, known for publishing her best-selling memoir Prozac Nation, at the age of 26. She holds a BA in comparative literature from Harvard College and a JD from Yale Law School...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth31 July 1967
CountryUnited States of America
passion imagination people
My imagination, my ability to understand the way love and people grow over time, how passion can surprise and renew, utterly failed me.
imagination interesting people
It was just very interesting to me that certain types of women inspire people's imagination, and all of them were very difficult women.
trying sides instinct
Because trying to see all sides, such an instinct is particularly Jewish.
stupid doors intellectual
There are some remarks that are so stupid that to be even vaguely aware of them is the intellectual equivalent of living next door to Chernobyl.
people literature worried
Am I worried people will say I'm repeating myself? Sure. One thought I had was to publish it as a novel but eventually I just decided to do what I wanted to do.
depression literature way
In a strange way, I had fallen in love with my depression.
life dull glamorous
My life's actually been quite dull; it's not all that glamorous.
life literature adults
In life, single women are the most vulnerable adults. In movies, they are given imaginary power.
hate miserable
You don't even have to hate to have a perfectly miserable time.
fake-people sleep watches
It's like Samson and Delilah: watch your back, because trouble could be the person you're sleeping with.
crazy thoughtful people
The brief relief of seeing other people when I leave my room turns into a desperate need to be alone, and then being alone turns into a terrible fear that I will have no friends, I will be alone in this world and in my life. I will eventually be so crazy from this black wave, which seems to be taking over my head with increasing frequency, that one day I will just kill myself, not for any great, thoughtful existential reasons, but because I need immediate relief.
strong jobs sadness
The measure of our mindfulness, the touchstone for sanity in this society, is our level of productivity, our attention to responsibility, our ability to plain and simple hold down a job. If you're still at the point when you're even just barely going through the motions--showing up at work, paying the bills--you are still okay or okay enough. A desire not to acknowledge sadness in ourselves or those close to us--better known these days as denial, is such a strong urge that plenty of people prefer to think that until you are actually flying out of a window, you don't have a problem.
sleep rooms ifs
In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead
memories grandmother past
Nothing in my life ever seemed to fade away or take its rightful place among the pantheon of experiences that constituted my eighteen years. It was all still with me, the storage space in my brain crammed with vivid memories, packed and piled like photographs and old dresses in my grandmother’s bureau. 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.