Given Loughner's obsession with meaninglessness and language, maybe Foucault & Derrida deserve some fault here, too.
When Loughner himself speaks and we find out his real influences are Spiderman, 'Gnome Chomsky,' Taylor Swift, and Dr. Bronner, then what?
Everyone loves a witch hunt as long as it's someone else's witch being hunted.
Memo to extreme partisans: If you can't bring yourselves to love your enemies, can you at least learn to hate your friends?
This is how it works now with the news: the story begins with a moral, then a narrative is fashioned to support it.
Reason leavened with a little wit (if possible) is the real alternative to hate speech, meaning that there's no better time for it.
Bailey, a former prosecutor, attacked her credibility scattershot, an approach he would use throughout the trial, particularly with female witnesses. ...He accused her, that is--without coming out and...
@bobbybaird i'm a writer, so are you. we try to compose our thoughts and words for effect as well as sense. vain of us? a bit.
The strange anthropological lesson of social media is that human beings, if given a choice, often prefer to socialize alone.
Cross the wrong state border with your gun, or wake up one morning to new legislation or a new presidential executive order, and suddenly you're the bad guy, not the good guy. No wonder some gun owner...
I think people get a sense of possibility when they're on a plane, even romantic possibility, wondering if the perfect person is going to sit down next to them or something.
Literature had torn Tessa and me apart, or prevented us from merging in the first place. That was its role in the world, I'd started to fear: to conjure up disagreements that didn't matter and inspire...
The jurors appear vaguely stranded and at loose ends, uprooted from their routines and livelihoods.
A true nature is a gloomy monolith, sort of like that old black rotary phone that I had to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Grandpa on. But novelists, damn us, still need true natures - so we can give them to...
Purple Noon.
In America, to be ID'd - sorted, tagged, and permanently filed - is to lose a bit of one's soul. To die a little. This sounds like a subtle, poetic notion. It's not. In American legal and cultural tra...
To young people born under the weird planet of the SAT, intelligence was equated with agility, with raw acuity. It produced a certain sort of person of which I was a typical specimen: the mental conto...
It’s the little deceptions that no one catches that are going to dissolve it all someday. We’ll look at clocks and we won’t believe the hands. They’ll forecast sun but we’ll pack our slickers anyway.
You thought you were found but you realize that you were lost, and someday you may discover that you’re lost now.
Other people's devotions embarrassed me, perhaps because, like other people's kisses, they rarely looked genuine when viewed too closely.
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