twenty-seven years and one million words
Today I had the odd experience of holding a business meeting with someone I worked with fifteen to seventeen years ago.
I guess this sort of thing will become more common, but it's a bit jarring some times to note that it's a very small world.
The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures, and sinks to bestiality in his vices, all from continual lying to other men and to himself.
—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov