"Ik voel me trots en bevoorrecht om in Nederland te leven. Ik heb het gevoel dat als ik nu niets doe, ik op 16 maart wakker kan worden in een land waar de dingen waarin ik geloof en de vrijheid die zo is bevochten, op het spel komen te staan."
"Obviously I’m being dramatic, but dramatic is the new rational, and the new dramatic is likely WW3."
De appel die ik ervaar, is echt, net zoals de appel die jij ervaart. We kunnen bovendien consensus hebben over de appel. Maar – en dit is de ultieme implicatie van de kwantumfysica – het betekent dat er geen objectieve appel out there is.
I know a cure for sadness:/ /Let your hands touch something that /makes your eyes /smile.
Sometimes, there’s a poem that skips your brain and enters right into your bloodstream. Before getting it, it gets you. It becomes part of your cells and organs. You instantly forget how on earth you managed your life b.P. -before Poem.
Dear Friend Who Shines like 10,000 stars, On Sunday my neurons were firing like mad and my attention span was that of a mosquito on crack.
14 and clueless, I had no idea why the caged bird sings, but Maya Angelou seemed to, so I started reading and never stopped. Her stories expanded my world considerably and ingrained in me the importance of virtue. Of dignity. And maybe most of all, a sense of inner freedom. Or at least its possibility.
Remember telling me about things that happen to your body past 40? Nobody warns you was what you said? I was ambivalent to be initiated, but somehow ever since our conversation, I’ve felt more prepared for the moment I find my first grey pubic hair, and when that day comes, I’ll think of you, my friend.
G-sparkle-dog! That’s your gangster name. You can name me. Then we need a name for our gang. And of course, we’ll need a handshake, and either satin or leather jackets embroidered with our name and logo too. So, we also need a logo. And a mascot. Okay?
Dear Kate, Remember when we first met? On retreat in France with our fabulous writing teacher — in silence and surrounded by things simmering in that silence? You wore cowboy boots and marveled at the rain — because Arizona hardly sees any.
