Griff Harsh (Meg Whitman’s son) throws beer in Guy’s face.
Guy: You can’t do that to people.
Griff Harsh (points at himself): Billionaire.
Overheard at Charter
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To catch and pin a butterfly: Full Design
Pick up a copy around campus, or view the full design here!
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Letter From The Editor
Dear friends, I keep a careful journal of my days and habits. What did I buy? What did I eat? What was I grateful for? I do this mostly so that I can understand myself better, so that I can flip through the year as twelve two-page spreads and identify the patterns that facilitate…
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Chiaroscuro
The microscopic elements that made up the Princeton Opera Company’s recent production of Gianni Schicchi.
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Bluebells + How to Stop the Bleeding
Bluebells “The temple bell stops— but the sound keeps coming out of the flowers.” – Bashō Truth is the quiet color of the wind over the ocean, the temple on the cliffside, the oxidized bell that sweeps clean the plain. It stops the dust from building up as a patina,…
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How to Have a Spring Fling
A Nass writer revels in the aftermath of a brief love affair, and argues that there is beauty in its being contained.
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Shoulder Strain
The golden sand of a cemetery wound claws with rancor, rests its plaster-filled palms on your provident shoulders, steers you into this braided soil and, Lord, it molds you like a Scythian collar, its latch unsealed.
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Once Upon a Time, There Was a Mountain – Part 3: The Story
“A girl arrived at the temple gate in the autumn of 2008. She was nine or ten, barefoot, her feet thick with hardened skin and scaly with sores. She sat down in the courtyard and looked at the monk with the peculiar weatheredness of a child who has lived through things that did not belong…
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Necessary Information
“She gave the florist her name, Sally Hawthorne, and her telephone number and new address, and asked if he would put her name in the system. She explained that she and her husband had just moved, that the house didn’t feel like home, so she’d been looking for somewhere nice to buy flowers, but found…
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Letter From The Editor
Dear friends, To walk through a home where you once lived, to see someone to whom you once felt connected, to re-read a book you loved as a child—these are often deeply disappointing experiences. The walls of your old bedroom seem much closer to each other than they once did. Your old friend’s eccentricities,…