You learn a lot when you spend time in the dining hall.

The wisdom drifts in and out of conversations – mid-bite or between sips.

Sweet tea fixes everything.

Some are careful observations, gently pointed out.

Cats are sweet, but they’re like people — when they’ve had enough of you, they let you know.

Sometimes you can’t help but laugh and wonder.

Those shoes look like you could kill cockroaches in the corner.

The dining hall has a rhythm all its own — unexpected comedy, a little confusion, and a lot of cantankerous.

This place is a three-ring circus. I don’t know why I’m here.

Where is the fight? I’m trying to get to the fight.

Are we going to celebrate tonight by not having any food?

Sometimes the questions feel heavier than they sound.

Do you know who I am?

Every now and then, little flirts sneak in — unannounced, unapologetic.

Is that your husband? He’s kinda cute, but don’t tell him I told you.

Hi, handsome.

There’s no real moral being taught. No neat lesson to be learned.
Just people being exactly who they are, exactly where they are.

And maybe that’s the lesson — authenticity.

In the dining hall, sometimes the truest things get said.

Sweet tea fixes everything.