Platitudes.

Tell me something I don't already know.

What we have found is that the story of hunger, and of poverty more broadly, is far more complex than any one statistic or grand theory; it is a world where those without enough to eat may save up to buy a TV instead, where more money doesn’t necessarily translate into more food, and where making rice cheaper can sometimes even lead people to buy less rice.

—Abhijit Banerjee and Esther Duflo, More Than 1 Billion People Are Hungry in the World 

(via copyeditor)

A good way to describe last week’s sturm and drang. 

A good way to describe last week’s sturm and drang. 

A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.

— From George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones (via mlq3)

Home means many different things for me. And although I try my best to make a “home” out of wherever my work takes me, nothing compares to the sense of calm I feel whenever I walk up my apartment’s driveway after long days spent on field.
The kids next door have moved out and I don’t really care, neighbors come and go here. But I wish this blue bugger were still here to greet me every time I come home. 
yellowbuglove:

Like a loyal pet, this little guy greeted me as I got into my apartment’s driveway the other day.  He isn’t mine though.  I think he might belong to the little kids next door.  Mind you, this was the only thought that kept me from picking him up, and taking him away with me, safely tucked in my arm.  Hehe.

Home means many different things for me. And although I try my best to make a “home” out of wherever my work takes me, nothing compares to the sense of calm I feel whenever I walk up my apartment’s driveway after long days spent on field.

The kids next door have moved out and I don’t really care, neighbors come and go here. But I wish this blue bugger were still here to greet me every time I come home. 

yellowbuglove:

Like a loyal pet, this little guy greeted me as I got into my apartment’s driveway the other day.  He isn’t mine though.  I think he might belong to the little kids next door.  Mind you, this was the only thought that kept me from picking him up, and taking him away with me, safely tucked in my arm.  Hehe.

Writing is, in the end, that oddest of anomalies: an intimate letter to a stranger.

—Pico Iyer (via mlq3)