“I sat before my typewriter and the great awful void descended, and I beat my head with my fists, put a pillow under my aching buttocks and made little noises of agony.”

“Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.”

“I ached everywhere. It was hard to separate the dull agony of the shattered leg from the ache in my head and my back and my guts. My skull felt as if there were a ball of mercury in it that shifted ponderously long seconds after my head itself turned. The vertigo made me sick again, but I had nothing left to vomit. I hung on the tangle of branches and contemplated the glories of adventure.”

“Yet I have no stylistic nobility. My head aches because my head aches. The universe aches me because my head aches.”

“I put a piece of paper under my pillow, and when I could not sleep I wrote in the dark.”

“Knowing how they were sleeping on a dirt floor at that very moment, while I had a soft pillow under my head, made me feel incredibly guilty.”

“I tried to kill it in my bed,
I gagged it with a pillow,
But awoke the nuns inside my head.”

“I seriously needed an extra-strength magic pillow, because my ba refused to stay put. [And no, Sadie, I don't think wrapping my head in duct tape would've worked either. ]”

“I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.”

“Before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.”