I've thought of firing myself multiple times.

Melt all the guns, I thought, break the knives, burn the guillotines-and the malicious will still write letters that kill.

For a while I was suicidal and I tried to kill myself. I think I should have died about four times.

I have just returned from a party of which I was the life and soul; wit poured from my lips, everyone laughed and admired me–but I went away– and wanted to shoot myself.

After talking to Mark, I'd spent much of the night in the kind of "what if" ruminations that served no particular purpose except to depress me.

In spite of my suffering, at the thought that I was sure to end up by killing myself, I cried aloud and burst into tears.

I wanted to kill myself. I would have done it, too, if I had owned a gun. I was considering the gruesome alternatives — pills, slitting my wrists with a razor blade, jumping off a bridge — when another student called to ask me a detailed question on relativity. There was no way, after fifteen minutes of thinking about Mr. Einstein, that suicide was still a viable option. Divorce, certainly. Celibacy, highly likely. But death was out of the question. I could never have prematurely terminated my love affair with physics.

I aimed at his back and pulled the trigger five times and all hell broke loose in my mind.

The sky was horribly dark, but one could distinctly see tattered clouds, and between them fathomless black patches. Suddenly I noticed in one of these patches a star, and began watching it intently. That was because that star had given me an idea: I decided to kill myself that night.

I was told I had to do a speech, to say a few thank yous and was lying in bed a couple of nights ago till about 2:30 in the morning thinking what I was going to say. I had it all planned out perfectly, fell asleep - and then was woken up at 4am when my cars were being driven off in the driveway!

Early on, if I was alone two or three nights in a row, I’d start writing poems about suicide.

"I was not at ease that night. I was a prey to an immense distress. I sat as if I had fallen into my chair. As on the first day I looked at my reflection in the glass, and all I could do was just what I had done then, simply cry, "I!

In order to understand, I destroyed myself.

I was burned so many times that I stopped giving interviews. In other words, if my words ended up in print, they were twisted in an indescribable fashion.