I really look at my childhood as being one giant rusty tuna can that I continue to recycle in many different shapes.

Ah . . . ! What’s happening? it thought. Er, excuse me, who am I? Hello? Why am I here? What’s my purpose in life? What do I mean by who am I? Calm down, get a grip now . . . oh! this is an interesting sensation, what is it?

But the truth is that no person ever understands another, from beginning to end of life, there is no truth that can be known, only the story we imagine to be true, the story they really believe to be true about themselves; and all of them lies.

Written By Ernest Hemingway

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links