Princeton’s degree of social exclusivity is abnormal. Whether compared to colleges whose social lives are dominated by bar culture, or colleges with extensive Greek life, Princeton stands out in the extent of its social hierarchy and in the lack of truly inclusive late-night social spaces.
“Perhaps we must accept that we are simply watchers of beautiful forms. And if we acknowledge that we are observers, bound by our own frailties and limitations, we may be able to rescue the memory of what was, for an instant, exquisite.”
“I scribbled a question on my scrap of paper and tossed it into the designated baseball hat: Can you tell us a little about hookups and relationships at school?”
Memories may fade as distance grows wider between ourselves and our young selves, but one thing remains constant: if we dig down deep into the recesses of our experiences, hold light up to the seeds of our current moment, brush off the dust, we might find something worth writing about.
“It wasn’t that I was self-conscious; rather, I recognized how ridiculous the scene must have looked. I was half dressed with tussled frosted tips and drooping bags under my eyes. They were fully uniformed, standing at least half a foot above me and simply staring at my unkempt figure.”
“At Princeton, joining an eating club is like being a meat-eater: it’s a commonplace practice that has become the norm, but we feel there’s something morally iffy about the whole enterprise.”
“The pods are designed to wash your clothing and maybe even scent them with subtle lavender, not to satisfy an uncontrollable sweet tooth or the adventurous eater in your family.”
As the Umatter bus passes Tower, it is stopped by a man standing in the middle of the street. His arms are spread out above him and he’s staring into the sky as if deep in prayer.
“What was so different about turning twenty? It means I have passed something. That is to say, I have disappointed already. Former promise has resigned itself.”
