Don Draper Quotes

Nostalgia - its delicate, but potent. Teddy told me that in Greek nostalgia literally means “the pain from an old wound.” It’s a twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine. It goes backwards, and forwards… it takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It’s not called the wheel, it’s called the carousel. It let’s us travel the way a child travels - around and around, and back home again, to a place where we know are loved.

In Greek, “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound”. It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine. It goes backwards and forwards, it takes us to a place where we ache to go again.

Go ahead and cry, Andy. Don't be afraid of those tears. Sometimes they help to wash the soul clean.

Do you know what courage is? I guess you don't. Do you know that the courage it took at that moment - to actually blow yourself away - was more than enough courage to keep on living?

Maybe I'm not so different from everyone else after all. It's like somebody gave me a puzzle, but I don't have the box with the picture on it. So I don't know what the final thing is supposed to look like. I'm not even sure if I have all the pieces.

You came here because we do this better than you and part of that is letting our creatives be unproductive until they are.

Why does everybody need to talk about everything?

People want to be told what to do so badly that they'll listen to anyone. [Written by Andre and Maria Jacquemetton]

I keep going to a lot of places and ending up somewhere I've already been

Change is neither good or bad; it simply is.

(Don't take life as a ADVANTAGE take it SERIOUSLY because it's not a game)

Don't make me regret taking you on. If I get irritated, I might drown you a little bit.

She's, like, really, really beautiful, but I don't think she sees that when she looks in the mirror.

This was now officially the most inane conversation in which Griff had ever been a participant—and that included a drunken debate with Del over ostrich racing. “The color isn’t too awful?” She twisted a fold of the skirt. “The draper called it ‘dewy petal,’ but your mother said the shade was more of a ‘frosted berry.’ What do you say?” “I’m a man, Simms. Unless we’re discussing nipples, I don’t see the value in these distinctions.

Ozorne, please don't let him try to make me into a battle mage. I wish you'd told me that's what you wanted." Arram stopped and grabbed his friend by the arms. "I won't do it. I'm not a killer. I'll never be a killer.

Don't aim for riches, child. Aim for happiness." -Mrs. Mills

Change is neither good or bad; it simply is. [Written by Matthew Weiner]

They make computers for the special eddies?” “It talks? Mine doesn’t do that.” “You don’t need yours to talk!” “It sounds weird.” “So do you.

Bad writers don’t practice, Stella. It’s the good ones who care enough to try, who worry about getting the words just right.

Ashes don't necessarily signify an end

Peggy, just think about it. Deeply. Then forget it. And an idea will jump up in your face.

Our worst fears lie in anticipation.

Stella's father hesitated. "Georgia supports me, but she was a mite trembly this morning. I brought Stella though."He squeezed her shoulders affectionately. "I don't want to just tell her about bravery--I want to show her what it looks like.

The doors of Target opened with a welcoming swoosh, and I was instantly distracted. Yeah. Target does that to me. I feel at home. They've got stuff I need. Stuff I don't need. Stuff I didn't even know I wanted. Neatly placed and waiting for me. I love that place.

Why are some people mean and some people nice?" "I don't rightly know...But my job is to teach all of you to be the best people you can be...

What you call love was invented by guys like me... to sell Nylons

Everybody uses words to express themselves. Except me. And I bet most people don’t realize the real power of words. But I do. Thoughts

Bad writers don't practice, Stella. It's the good ones who care enough to try, who worry about getting the words just right. You are probably better than you think" -Papa

Make it simple, but significant.

Our team hasn’t done anything special. They don’t need to. They have me.

You're good. Get better. Stop asking for things.

Everybody uses words to express themselves. Except me. And I bet most people don’t realize the real power of words. But I do. Thoughts need words. Words need a voice.

I don’t think they get paid very much, because they never stay very long. But they should get a million dollars. What they do is really hard, and I don’t think most folks get that. It

Everybody uses words to express themselves. Except me. And I bet most people don’t realize the real power of words. But I do.

Take your hat off.

Her mother gave her a piece of warm biscuit and a hug before they left. "Stones don't cry, child. Remember that," was all she said.

Don't be afraid to dream beyond where you can see.

Finally he said, "Bad writers don't practice, Stella. It's the good ones who care enough to try, who worry about getting the words just right. You are probably better than you think.

Dad also has the loudest, stinkiest farts in creation. I don’t know how he manages to control them at work, or even if he does, but when he’d get home, he’d let them loose. They’d start as he walked up the stairs.

I don't want it!" I finally type. Then, turning the volume as loud as it will go, I add, "You deserve it!" Still laughing, I click on the power to my chair, do a smooth turn, and roll myself out of the classroom.

When I play, I don’t pay attention to the individual notes. The notes become the melody. The melody becomes the rhythm. The rhythm is the harmony. Whether I play the blues or boogies, concertos or cantatas, I forget about me. I’m Bach. I’m Beethoven. I’m B.B. King. And the music is me. I’m a three-year-old in Italy, running though a field of daisies. I’m a turquoise-backed African sunbird, soaring over the desert savanna. The music slips out and shines like gold. I’m a tiger running through the jungle, strong and powerful. I’m a panther, dark and mysterious. I am so strong. I am in complete control of this world. Chords. Arpeggios. Cadenzas. Sharps and flats. Major chords. Minor scales. Harmony.

And you, Jonah? Is your family behind you on this?” Stella’s father hesitated. “Georgia supports me, but she was a mite trembly this morning. I brought Stella, though.” He squeezed her shoulders affectionately. “I don’t want to just tell her about bravery—I want to show her what it looks like.

Don hits rock bottom in the series’ finest hour, “The Suitcase,” which is essentially a two-character play about Don and Peggy stuck in the office through a tumultuous night. She wants to leave for a birthday dinner with her boyfriend, while he needs company to avoid placing the phone call that will tell him that Anna Draper — the widow of the real Don, and the one person on Earth with whom this Don feels truly comfortable and safe — has died of cancer. Over the course of the episode, Jon Hamm and Elisabeth Moss are asked to play every emotion possible: rage and despair, joy and humiliation, companionship and absolute contempt. In the most iconic moment, Peggy complains that Don took all the credit for an award-winning campaign she helped conceive. “It’s your job,” he tells her, his voice dripping with condescension. “I give you money. You give me ideas.” “And you never say, ‘Thank you,’” she complains, fighting back tears. “That’s what the money is for!” he screams.

Training builds discipline, perseverance and patience. Mountains are climbed with these superior characteristics, lives are saved and nations are shaped. Tough exercise puts order and rhythm in our lives, diminishing confusion and reducing stress, and that’s worth more than a few trips to a psychiatrist’s couch. As quality is added to life, so is it extended with useful and enjoyable years. When once we said, ‘I can’t,’ after gaining fitness and well-being through dedicated exercise, we say, ‘Don’t just sit there, let’s get moving.

Who can fix it? We’ve been trying forever, here we are today and it’s still a beautiful mess. Still, our individual participation is vital. Don't do anything to make it worse, and maintain a positive and productive atmosphere around you. Contribute where you can with your talents, knowledge, awareness and energy, and recognize in your head and heart that you’re doing just that. You count. You influence your surroundings far more than you realize. Your smile can light up a room; your glare can darken it. Imagine what your laughter can accomplish right about now. Earthshaking.

Daleric rushed in and braced Arram's free side. "Arram, what's this?" He asked with concern. "You were fine when we left. " "Apparently Kottrun and his pack took Arram and the wounded as hostages," the captain explained. "They must have run mad to think Master Ramasu could walk them out of here. Our mages put sleep on them, but before it took, the boy made a fountain that smacked Kottrun silly and then dropped him." "Kottrun hit me in the head, too," Arram said cheerfully. His knees turned to water, and he sagged in the mages' grips. "But I'm fine. " Daleric raised his eyebrows. "No wonder you're wrung out, then," he told Arram. "Three days of serious healing, a clout on the head, and whatever you just did on top of it. Don't tell me you're fine." "I am," Arram protested. "Mm-hmm," Daleric said dubiously.

Through hear tears, she did not see opportunity. “How could you do this!” she cried to her son’s commander in chief. And then, thinking of Bush’s two children, who would never face combat: “THIS IS NOT YOUR DAUGHTER!” On the helicopter ride back to the White House, Bush murmured to an aide, “that big black woman was really angry at me.” He thought for a moment before adding, “I don’t blame here.” He turned to the window of Marine One and said nothing else.

Back in 1998, Governor Bush had told a Texas reporter that the same forces who were demonizing undocumented laborers were also seeking to turn homosexuality into a wedge issue. “I understand their concern about gay marriages or special rights,” he said that summer day. “But I don’t agree with the idea of pitting one group against another. That’s exactly what’s happened during the Hispanic debate, it seems like. And it may not have been the intention, but it became Us versus Them. It’s impossible to lead the nation or state toward a better tomorrow by dividing into camps.

It was a miserable power struggle to break him. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to win an argument with a cat, but good luck with that. He would slip out when we weren’t looking, settle scores in some back alley near midnight, and return two days later like Don Draper crashing through the front door after a bender. What? What are you looking at?

Marturano recommended something radical: do only one thing at a time. When you’re on the phone, be on the phone. When you’re in a meeting, be there. Set aside an hour to check your email, and then shut off your computer monitor and focus on the task at hand. Another tip: take short mindfulness breaks throughout the day. She called them “purposeful pauses.” So, for example, instead of fidgeting or tapping your fingers while your computer boots up, try to watch your breath for a few minutes. When driving, turn off the radio and feel your hands on the wheel. Or when walking between meetings, leave your phone in your pocket and just notice the sensations of your legs moving. “If I’m a corporate samurai,” I said, “I’d be a little worried about taking all these pauses that you recommend because I’d be thinking, ‘Well, my rivals aren’t pausing. They’re working all the time.’ ” “Yeah, but that assumes that those pauses aren’t helping you. Those pauses are the ways to make you a more clear thinker and for you to be more focused on what’s important.” This was another attack on my work style. I had long assumed that ceaseless planning was the recipe for effectiveness, but Marturano’s point was that too much mental churning was counterproductive. When you lurch from one thing to the next, constantly scheming, or reacting to incoming fire, the mind gets exhausted. You get sloppy and make bad decisions. I could see how the counterintuitive act of stopping, even for a few seconds, could be a source of strength, not weakness. This was a practical complement to Joseph’s “is this useful?” mantra. It was the opposite of zoning out, it was zoning in. In fact, I looked into it and found there was science to suggest that pausing could be a key ingredient in creativity and innovation. Studies showed that the best way to engineer an epiphany was to work hard, focus, research, and think about a problem—and then let go. Do something else. That didn’t necessarily mean meditate, but do something that relaxes and distracts you; let your unconscious mind go to work, making connections from disparate parts of the brain. This, too, was massively counterintuitive for me. My impulse when presented with a thorny problem was to bulldoze my way through it, to swarm it with thought. But the best solutions often come when you allow yourself to get comfortable with ambiguity. This is why people have aha moments in the shower. It was why Kabat-Zinn had a vision while on retreat. It was why Don Draper from Mad Men, when asked how he comes up with his great slogans, said he spends all day thinking and then goes to the movies. Janice Marturano was on

Make it Simple but Significant!

IT’S FUNNY—WHEN Dad was in California, Mom’s house was where I lived. It was home. But now I don’t really feel like I have a home—it’s more like I live at Dad’s place. Or Mom’s place. I never say “I’m going home” anymore. It’s “I’m going to my mom’s.” Or “I’m going to my dad’s.” Going. Not staying. Actually, it’s not funny at all.

Dad also has the loudest, stinkiest farts in creation. I don’t know how he manages to control them at work, or even if he does, but when he’d get home, he’d let them loose. They’d start as he walked up the stairs. Step, fart.

I'd give anything to go to school in California,” Diamond admitted as she bought two slices of cheese pizza. “Why is that?” He glanced around, evidently looking for his daughter. “I don't know. Close to Hollywood. Movie stars. The ocean. All that stuff,” Diamond replied. Thane tilted his head. “You have that look, if you don't mind my saying so.” “Huh? What look?” He checked his watch. “Where can that girl be?” Then he looked back at Diamond as if he'd just remembered her question. “That star look. You're a dancer, right?” Diamond's eyes went wide. “How did you know?” “Well, you walk like a queen, tall and graceful. And it says 'dance' all over that bag you're carrying.

Layla sat on the floor in costume and makeup, waiting for the others for the pre-performance activities that Miss Ginger insisted on. First practice. Then pep talk and prayer. Mercedes slipped into the tiny room and sat beside her, stretching a little. “You okay?” Layla asked. “Talking to the cops freaked me out,” Mercedes confessed. “How am I supposed to dance after that?” Layla met her eyes. “I don't know if Diamond is kidnapped or at a party with movie stars. But somehow I'm not feeling a party.” She spritzed more hair spray on her wayward curls. “Yeah, me neither,” Mercedes admitted. “I got this bad feeling. Damn it! I never should have let her go to the food court alone.” “Hey, you can't swallow this blame,” Layla told her. “That mall is like our second home. There was no way you could have guessed something bad would happen.” “Yeah, I know, but I still feel responsible. I didn't need that new leotard! We shoulda stayed together. If I had just....

We're going to include Diamond in our prayer,” Miss Ginger said. “Praying is all I've been doing since I heard about her disappearance.” “Do you think it will be on the news?” Zizi said dramatically. “I've never known anybody from an Amber Alert before. I think it would be cool to have your name used in an official police capacity.” “Chill, Zizi. The child who had Amber Alert named after her did not survive,” Miss Ginger explained, her tone serious. “Oh.” Zizi looked stricken. “I didn't know. Sorry.” “I'm not sure if they will post an Amber Alert. There's so much we just don't know at this point,” Miss Ginger told them.

Donovan looked her up and down. “What's that you wearin'?” “It's my costume!” she answered, frustration in her voice, but Justin noticed she pulled the edge of her leotard farther down over her butt cheeks. “You shouldn't be backstage, Donny. You'll get me in trouble.” “I don't like it,” he snarled. “All I can see is your boobs and your butt.” “I'm a dancer,” she replied angrily. “It's what we wear. Now go sit down in the audience!” “That's my beef,” he continued, still in her space. “You show too much. And you look to me like you're gaining weight!” Layla paused. “I do?” She looked down at her thighs. “Who you showin' off for?” Donny hissed. “Please,” she said, lowering her voice. “Let's talk about this after the performance.” “Change your clothes!” he demanded. “You're crazy! I'm up next.” She reached out to him, pleading. He grabbed both her wrists, hard. “No girl of mine is gonna dance like a stripper!” In tears now, Layla pushed him away. “It's ballet!

Layla almost jumped. “Donovan,” she said with a sigh. “Time to go. He's gotta go to work after he takes me home.” “Girl, that dude sure has got you on a tight chain,” Jillian remarked. “You don't know what you're talking about. Donovan is the best thing that ever happened to me,” Layla shot back. “You bombed your dance because of him,” Jillian said, exasperated. “He made you lose your concentration, showing up backstage.” “That was not Donny's bad,” Layla replied hotly. “I was the only one on that stage. I just messed up.

Donny, don't be like this.” “I saw you checkin' out Justin backstage.” “Huh? What are you talkin' about?” “You savin' it for him?” “What? You trippin'! Justin means nothing to me. Why you always gotta go there?” “I'm just sayin'..." “Take me home, Donny. Please. Don't make me prove anything tonight. I need to be alone to think and rest. Please.” He stopped at another red light, reached over and grabbed her left arm. Hard. His fingernails clawed into her skin. Layla cried out. “You're hurting me,” she whispered. “Love hurts,” he said sharply. He released her arm when the light changed, but his face was stone. “I want to go home,” she pleaded, rubbing her arm. “Okay, you win,” he said finally. “But remember, you owe me.

I don't understand! Why am I tied up?” Thane walked around the bed, his eyes never leaving her. “You said you wanted to be in a movie, didn't you?” “Yes, but, I thought...”” “You thought you were coming to a casting call. And you are. Oh yes, you are,” Thane said. “But...€”but what about Chloe and the other girls? I'm so confused. I need my clothes. Please, please untie me!” Her head pounded, and her brain felt so fuzzy. She couldn't think. Why was the room spinning? Thane laughed again. “You still don't get it, do you? You wanted to be in a movie, and you're just in time for your audition.” Diamond tried to think straight. Nothing made sense. She felt drugged. “Wha? What? I...€”I don't understand.” Thane flicked on the lights, and Diamond twisted her head away from the sudden brightness. “You will be the star tonight, my dear girl,” Thane whispered. Then, in a louder voice, he called, “Lights. Camera. Action.” Diamond blinked her eyes open, straining to see in the harsh, glaring light. Two large movie cameras were positioned directly over the bed. Oh, no! Oh, no! Her heart thudding, she jerked and thrashed against the ropes once more. “No!” she screamed. “Let me go! Please, please, let me go!

It’s just that . . . well, I like the night. And it’s a good place to hide.” “Hide? From what?” Stella inched away, making a face. “I come out here to practice, Mama. I’ve got stuff in my head, but I don’t know how to get it out. I try to write it down some“times, but I’m not very good at it. It’s like my brains are dumplings in somebody else’s soup.” She looked up toward the stars, but even the sky had turned murky. Her mother hugged her closer. “I’ve talked to Gertrude Grayson a time or two,” she said gently. Stella stiffened. Betrayed! “She says you are the best thinker in the school.

For me, the inside wires that connect to my physical body are sort of like the ones inside that fixture. They’re pretty much fried. But the wires to my brain—ah! Absolutely, exceptionally excellent! And that made me think about how here at camp, no one was doing what so many people I’ve met seem to do. Lots of folks still have a tendency to just look at me from the outside. They notice the wheelchair and the head wobbling and the fact that my hands just can’t hold still. I drool sometimes—which, yes, is totally embarrassing. Folks don’t often look deep enough to see the kid who knows the names of every single bone in the human body. I’m almost twelve, but I read on a twelfth-grade level. Lots of that is thanks to Mrs. V, who never saw me as unplugged, but only saw my power.

Ashes don't necessarily signify an end.

You only get one chance at life. You don't know how long it's going to last but you do know it doesn't end well. You have to move forward; as soon as you figure out what that means." Don Draper, Mad Men

Dad loves cheese. It doesn’t agree with his digestive system very well, though. Dad also has the loudest, stinkiest farts in creation. I don’t know how he manages to control them at work, or even if he does, but when he’d get home, he’d let them loose. They’d start as he walked up the stairs. Step, fart. Step, fart. Step, fart. I’d be laughing by the time he got to my room, and he’d lean over my bed and kiss me. His breath always smelled like peppermints. When

This is why people have aha moments in the shower. It was why Kabat-Zinn had a vision while on retreat. It was why Don Draper from Mad Men, when asked how he comes up with his great slogans, said he spends all day thinking and then goes to the movies.

multi-screen world of ad-wary consumers has rendered Don Draper’s big budget brainwashing useless to all but the biggest brands.

New Girl was now starring Zed La'Frank a female Spinosaurus. Mad Men became almost unwatchable due to the fact that Don Draper was now played by an flamboyant Velociraptor. Game of Thrones was made up of an entire cast of Triceratops, all whom had never even acted before. It seemed like the dinosaurs were getting a kick out of taking over our greatest entertainment and replacing it with their talentless artists. It was infuriating.

Whether he was flirting with you, hiring you, or marrying you, Don Draper was just not that into you.

En attendant, bien des hommes restent des « menhirs ». Et le plus triste est peut-être que nous en arrivons à érotiser leur froideur et leur mutisme, à y voir du mystère, de la profondeur, un trait viril et attirant. C'est ce qu'une de mes amies et moi avons baptisé l'« effet Don Draper ». Au cours d'une conversation, nous avions essayé de cerner ce qui rendait le héros de la série Mad Men aussi séduisant, et nous étions arrivées à cette conclusion : l'attitude de ces hommes est si frustrante que la moindre ouverture de leur part, le moindre échange authentique, si timide et éphémère soit-il, sont vécus comme une épiphanie bouleversante. Le gars vous grommelle trois mots un peu personnels et vous vous convulsez d'émotion sur la moquette, foudroyée par cet instant de communion sublime. (p. 203)

I would leave here, jump on the subway, and spend the rest of my day lying on the couch with my dear friends Don and Betty Draper.

The reason you don't do video at all or more video is because of your ego.

In the television show, Mad Men, creative director and Madison Avenue lothario Don Draper provides a quick lesson when a copywriter’s words lack impact. Don says, “Stop writing for other writers.” The lesson is: put yourself in the shoes of the customer. Real life mad man Leo Burnett, eponymous creator of a great advertising firm, emphasized the same point: “If you can't turn yourself into your customer, you probably shouldn't be in the ad writing business at all.” Marketing stories have to be real, relevant, and relatable.

We should get you some ice." "F*ck you. If I did half my job, you'll be stuffing you jock with every piece of cold thing we have." "Yeah, but you can have it when I'm done though." She managed another bloody smile and turned towards the door. "Hey Babs, no hard feelings right?" "Just next time you need to beat someone up, how about you don't insult me first." He chuckled. It hurt. "If I need to beat someone up, I got a whole station of possibilities. But if I'm looking to lose a fight, I'm pretty much down to just you.

Dad also has the loudest, stinkiest farts in creation. I don’t know how he manages to control them at work, or even if he does, but when he’d get home, he’d let them loose. They’d start as he walked up the stairs. Step, fart. Step, fart. Step, fart.

Change is neither good or bad; it simply is. [Written by Matthew Weiner]

The Draper Principle Don Draper, in case you don’t know, is the fictional character from the hit AMC show Mad Men. He plays the creative director of a Manhattan advertising firm and is known for his effectiveness at pitching ideas. I based the final principle on him because I believe it’s one he would teach you himself if he were not in fact a work of fiction. The best way to stay on point is to make sure the flow and focus of the discussion plays to your strengths. If it strays elsewhere, away from an area in which you can shine, transition it back. It’s the ole Don Draper adage, “If you don’t like what’s being said, change the conversation.

A multiscreen world of ad-wary consumers has rendered Don Draper’s big-budget brainwashing useless to all but the biggest brands.

There are more than a thousand people in one square mile of this studio who would kill to have this job. Get your ass up off the floor and go back into that writers’ room, you weakling. Then I get up, pour myself a generous glass of whiskey and club soda, think about the sustained grit of my parents, and go back to work. I know that made me sound like a tortured alcoholic, like Don Draper, but I swear I’m not.

En attendant, bien des hommes restent des « menhirs ». Et le plus triste est peut-être que nous en arrivons à érotiser leur froideur et leur mutisme, à y voir du mystère, de la profondeur, un trait viril et attirant. C’est ce qu’une de mes amies et moi avons baptisé l’« effet Don Draper ». Au cours d’une conversation, nous avions essayé de cerner ce qui rendait le héros de la série Mad Men aussi séduisant, et nous étions arrivées à cette conclusion : l’attitude de ces hommes est si frustrante que la moindre ouverture de leur part, le moindre échange authentique, si timide et éphémère soit-il, sont vécus comme une épiphanie bouleversante. Le gars vous grommelle trois mots un peu personnels et vous vous convulsez d’émotion sur la moquette, foudroyée par cet instant de communion sublime. De fait, certaines des scènes les plus marquantes de Mad Men sont celles où ce héros barricadé derrière ses secrets laisse entrevoir ses sentiments, sa vulnérabilité, son âme. Il se livre rarement à ses épouses successives, Betty et Megan, femmes-trophées à la beauté spectaculaire avec lesquelles il entretient des relations convenues (et oppressives), mais plutôt à d’autres femmes : sa collaboratrice Peggy Olson75, ou Anna Draper, la veuve de l’homme dont il a usurpé l’identité. Toutefois, si ce mécanisme peut donner de splendides moments de télévision, dans la vie, il encourage surtout les femmes à repartir pour six mois, ou dix ans, de maltraitance psychologique, dans l’espoir – en général vain – qu’un jour le miracle se reproduira et s’installera dans la durée pour devenir la normalité. On voit mieux combien cette situation est intenable si on transpose la disette émotionnelle à d’autres de nos besoins : certes, quand nous souffrons de la faim, un quignon de pain rassis peut prendre des allures de festin insensé ; quand nous mourons de soif, une gorgée d’eau croupie nous semble d’une fraîcheur merveilleuse. Pour autant, pouvons-nous nous condamner à un régime aussi pauvre et triste ? Pouvons-nous en faire un principe de vie, et nous priver des nourritures aussi variées que fabuleuses, des mille boissons délicieuses qui existent sur Terre ?

Everybody uses words to express themselves. Except me. And I bet most people don’t realize the real power of words. But I do. Thoughts need words. Words need a voice. I love the smell of my mother’s hair after she washes it. I love the feel of the scratchy stubble on my father’s face before he shaves. But I’ve never been able to tell them.