Maybe language is kind, giving us these double meanings. Maybe it's trying to teach us a lesson, that we can always be two things at once.

You don't know me. You know one me, just like I know one you. And you can't know every me, and I can't know every you.

If there wasn't a word for it, would we realize our masochism as much?

We are so used to releasing words. We don't know what to do with them if they stay.

I had always felt that mittens were a few steps back on the evolutionary scale-- why, I wondered, would we want to make ourselves into a less agile version of lobster.

There was a pause. I was still scared by every gap in our conversation, fearing that this was it, the point where we had nothing left to say. I was still trying to impress you, and I still wanted to be impressed by you, so I could pass along pieces of your impressiveness to my friends, convincing myself this was possible.

If other people see you differently, you’ll end up seeing them differently, too.