"The Montana sunset lay between the mountains like a giant bruise from which darkened arteries spread across a poisoned sky."

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Many of the artifacts of my house had become potential devices for my own destruction: the attic rafters (and an outside maple or two) a means to hang myself, the garage a place to inhale carbon monoxide, the bathtub a vessel to receive the flow from my opened arteries. The kitchen knives in their drawers had but one purpose for me.

— William Styron