“Loneliness smells like cinnamon and cherries cooking in a pot, I fancy a gentleman tipped his hat to me and offered me tea and his arm. I think I want a life in woolly sweaters, to cut birds out of apples and play chess on stormy nights, with the stars painted on the ceiling above us. I’d like to be taught to play the accordion, think how nice it would be in a house on rails, a train compartment in beige and red. Oh, I got lost inside my head again, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.”—Vera Vodak
“Race is constant. You’re tired of hearing about it? Imagine how fucking exhausting it is living it.”—Jon Stewart addressing Fox News’s (white) correspondents whining about hearing about race issues in the United States
“Much like democracy and hot dogs, people are ok with advertising but no one wants to see how it is actually made.”—James, on the astonishing number of people I hear crying in the bathroom at work every day.
n. the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.
“We don’t learn to love each other well in the easy moments. Anyone is good company at a cocktail party. But love is born when we misunderstand one another and make it right, when we cry in the kitchen, when we show up uninvited with magazines and granola bars, in an effort to say, I love you.”—