My style has been pretty much like a newspaper. It's got

The words of Kate Clinton flow with wit yet carry the weight of wisdom: “My style has been pretty much like a newspaper. It’s got politics in it, it’s got media, sports, family relations, you know, all the sections you would expect, and wonderful religion things.” Though clothed in humor, this saying touches upon the essence of art, speech, and life itself: that the voice of a creator must not be narrow or confined, but must contain multitudes, reflecting the fullness of the human condition.

From the earliest times, the bards and prophets were not single-minded. Homer sang not only of war but of hearth, of gods and men, of the clash of spears and the warmth of homecoming. The prophets of old spoke not only of religion, but also of justice, of politics, of the bonds of kinship. In every age, the true voice of wisdom has been like a newspaper—a scroll of many sections, each revealing some corner of the vast human story. Clinton, in comparing her art to this living archive, reminds us that the task of the speaker or the writer is to mirror the wholeness of life, not merely fragments.

Consider the Athenian dramatists. Euripides, for example, wove into his plays the struggles of families torn apart, the weight of civic duty, the meddling of gods, and the passions of men and women. His style was never singular but manifold, touching on politics of war, the media of myth, the sports of contests, the family relations of husbands and wives, and the ever-present religion that bound his people. In this, he resembles Clinton’s description: the stage, like the newspaper, was a mirror of society in all its complexity.

What Clinton teaches us is the value of breadth. Too often, men confine their voices, choosing only one theme, one domain, one narrow message. But life itself does not move in a single column. It sprawls, like the pages of the newspaper, into countless sections: the realm of public power, the games of human rivalry, the struggles of households, the debates of faith. To speak to only one is to leave the others in silence. To weave them all together is to show life as it truly is: chaotic, contradictory, yet deeply whole.

The lesson for us is clear. In our own lives, we must not reduce ourselves to a single story. Do not let the world define you as only a worker, or only a parent, or only a believer, or only an observer of sports. Like the newspaper, cultivate a spirit that holds many sections. Engage with the world’s politics, question the media, delight in games and contests, nurture your family relations, and honor your sense of religion or higher purpose. A life that embraces all these is fuller, richer, and more true.

In practical terms, this means expanding your vision. Read widely, listen to many voices, and never let your curiosity atrophy. Speak of more than one subject; write of more than one theme. Do not be afraid to mix the profound with the playful, the sacred with the ordinary. For it is in the weaving of many strands that one creates a tapestry strong enough to endure.

So let Clinton’s wisdom resound across generations: let your style be wide and generous, like the pages of the newspaper that capture a single day in all its glory and strife. For the human story is never one note—it is a chorus. Live and speak, then, as one who gathers the many sections of life into a single whole, and you will not only reflect the world but enrich it.

For in the end, the voice that endures is not the one that speaks narrowly, but the one that dares to embrace the vastness of human experience.