You’ve read it here before (just scroll down) that I’m a fan of the magazine, The Sun. Here’s the best damn paragraph in the June issue:
WHAT IF PSYCHIATRISTS came up with different language to describe the suffering of people who troop into their consulting rooms every day? Instead of diagnosing a young woman with “borderline-personality disorder,” how about “lost in the realm of the fluttering leaves”? Instead of “depression,” how about “buried by avalanche, still breathing”? And, just as the Inuit have different words for snow on the ground and snow in the air and snow that drifts, maybe we could have different words for tears: tears we’ll forget by tomorrow, tears we never cried but should have, tears that fall from our children’s eyes, tears that fall too quickly to wipe away.
And yes, it’s from Sy Safransky’s Notebook