I don't care what you Yanks say, cheese should not whiz.
The Yanks have colonized our subconscious.
You and me?” I let out a stunned bark of laughter. “There is no you and me. ” “That’s what you think,” Chaz says, tugging on his coat. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait around until you figure out that isn’t true. ” “Fine,” I say “I’m not asking you to, am I?” “No. ” Chaz is smiling… but not like he’s happy. “But you would if you had the slightest idea what was good for you. ” And with that, he yanks open the door and storms through it, slamming it closed behind him with enough force to cause the windowpanes to rattle. And then he’s gone.
Travel compels you to discover your spiritual side by elimination: Without all the rituals, routines and possessions that give your life meaning at home, you're forced to look for meaning within yourself Indeed, if travel is a process that helps you 'find yourself', it's because it leaves you with nothing to hide behind - it yanks you out from the realm of rehearsed responses and dull comforts, and forces you into the present. Here, in the fleeting moment, you are left to improvise, to come to terms with your raw, true self.
The problem with Yanks is they are wimps.
what if a much of a which of a wind gives the truth to summer's lie; bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun and yanks immortal stars awry?
