Had Juliet lived to a wizened age, we’d recoil from those breasts, low and deflated from years of gravity and nursing babies. We’d suggest that Romeo upgrade to a newer model.
While I didn’t end friendships over the election, I certainly learned which of my friends believed in the same things as me.
We must strive for action in unity, and we cannot achieve that by spouting Facebook and Twitter rants that drive wedges between us and do nothing to create sustainable change.
Do we listen, learn, and grow in their presence? Are we open, curious, and patient in our exploration of women's mysteries and riches and dimensions? I hope so.
But, the young men and women who are dying today for us, everyday, everywhere, who are crippled and maimed for life? We should cry for them. Cry, that that they are so naive, so innocent, so willing, so trusting, so patriotic and so foolish as to risk everything they have without having ever ...
How much of our regard hides contempt for their radius because of their recrudescence? How often do we seek surrogates to support our need to connect with something more humane? How ably do artists embrace this task, however restricted their role?