[b]Jonathan Safran Foer
God loves the plagiarist. And so it is written, 'God created humankind in His image, in the image of God He created them." God is the original plagiarizer. With a lack of reasonable sources from which to filch - man created in the image of what? the animals? - the creation of man was an act of reflexive plagiarizing; God looted the mirror. When we plagiarize, we are likewise creating in the image and participating in the completion of Creation.[/b]
Sure, go ahead, try this the next time they catch you.
The UN special envoy on food called it a ‘crime against humanity’ to funnel 100 million tons of grain and corn to ethanol when almost a billion people are starving. So what kind of crime is animal agriculture, which uses 756 million tons of grain and corn per year, much more than enough to adequately feed the 1.4 billion human who are living in dire poverty?
Let’s file this one under [what else], “show me the money!!”
My feelings have never once cared about what they should be.
We’ll need some actual examples of course.
In the past seven years of love-making he had heard the words “I love you” so many times: from the mouths of widows and children, from prostitutes, family friends, travelers, and adulterous wives. Women said “I love you” without his ever speaking. The more you love someone, he came to think, the harder it is to tell them. It surprised him that strangers didn’t stop each other on the street to say “I love you”.
Of course it goes without saying that here at least I don’t love you any more than you love me.
When I was old enough to take baths in the bathtub, and to know I had a penis and a scrotum and everything, I asked her not to sit in the room with me.
Why not?
Privacy.
Privacy from what? From me?
I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, because not hurting her feelings is another of my raisons d’etre. Just privacy, I said…She agreed to wait outside, but only if I held a ball of yarn, which went under the bathroom door and was connected to the scarf she was knitting. Every few seconds she would give it a tug, and I had to tug back–undoing what she had just done–so that she could know I was OK.
Yeah, it might be a true story.
The hardest part of writing is not to get the ideas but to remember why it is important to get them.
If, for example, that’s how you earn a living.