I love that the first people the Statue of liberty invites are the tired. Is it only tired? Can the exhausted and burnt out come too?
One for the challenges of being a nonfiction writer is that you can’t tell half of your friends when you’ve finally gotten published. Chances are they did something stupid you spent several weeks of your time and talent judging them for it.
It seems kind of insensitive to keep referring to the resurrection at a funeral. Like, God, why are you rubbimg it in?
You eat the macaroni and cheese you think you deserve. This is not a judgment against people who choose boxed over baked, but I do believe that they could learn to love themselves a little more.