It soothes me to think of Hemingway in rough draft.
We are not alone in our suffering, no matter how shocking or unusual our particular circumstances.
My unquestionably beautiful surroundings, once so freeing, now seem limiting.
What if I’d been less inhibited? What if I’d cried out, 'Jesus, what the hell is that?'
When people say art matters, it’s because they've been moved to act more compassionately in the world.
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