by
Katie Roiphe
[...] There is, in these pages, no sense of a woman comfortable in the world, a woman at ease. "Don't smile so much, sit up straight," she admonishes "Think about why I bite my nails at the movies.." How is it possible that anyone is this self-conscious? And how is it possible that this degree of consciousness could be fruitful?
yooo this is me, straight up
(Susan Sontag's journals)