This is my confession. I owe a debt now to society, to the friends I鈥檝e let become strangers, to the promises I made myself but never meant to keep. They鈥檝e been calling me at night and now I can鈥檛 get any sleep. The ringing is starting to be too much. I鈥檝e been talking to myself to find out why I鈥檓 losing touch.
There is no answer yet; if you鈥檇 like to keep trying, please hang up and try again.
WHAT IS this freedom of the (feeling) writer?
It is freedom to be intelligent and informed. Freedom to be ignorant is not freedom, for what is freedom? Is it not liberation? And what is ignorance but a prison?
One should be prepared to die for freedom 鈥� and how silly it would
We鈥檝e updated our privacy policy so that we are compliant with changing global privacy regulations and to provide you with insight into the limited ways in which we use your data.
You can read the details below. By accepting, you agree to the updated privacy policy.
