the idea that one person’s mind is accessible to another’s is just a conversational illusion, just a figure of speech, an assumption that makes some kind of exchange between basically alien creatures seem plausible, and that really the relationship of one person to another is ultimately unknowable.

I grew up with the white picket fence. My dad went to work nine to five, and he had a station wagon.

Sacrifice was the duty only of the few, who were of course hypocritically lauded by the many, the latter barely pausing in their infantile partying to wish the soldiers good luck at war. But

I donate money to the existing foundation that funds the US Ski Team kids.

Written By Picabo Street

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