But as time went on, I thought more and more about who the translators were and what they sacrificed, which in some cases was their lives, and I really started to empathize with them more.
She made faces, as if no one could see her. People were watching the man in the black hat too. He was talking to two writers slightly younger than him, both of them pensive and a bit sad. He, on the other hand, looked delighted.
What’s being sold around the clock and around the world as the “American way of life” is mostly a cheat and a lie. It’s an infantile dream of endless consumption, endless novelty, and endless play. It’s a pacifier for the ego to suck on.