E-mail creates the illusion that you're writing. You're not.
What is it about meter and cadence and rhythm that makes their makers mad?
This time I read the title of the painting: Girl Interrupted at Her Music. Interrupted at her music: as my life had been, interrupted in the music of being seventeen, as her life had been, snatched and fixed on canvas: one moment made to stand still and to stand for all the other moments, whatever they would be or might have been. What life can recover from that?
Are you crazy? It's a common phrase, I know. But it means something particular to me: the tunnels, the security screens, the plastic forks, the shimmering, ever-shifting borderline that like all boundaries beckons and asks to be crossed. I do not want to cross it again.
Tell me that you don’t take that blade and drag it across your skin and pray for the courage to press down.
Something about the goat dancing made me want to cry.
Freedom was the price of privacy.
Relatively speaking, I know what my other deficiencies are. Cosmetically, I'm not 28 and stunning. The fact that NBC appreciates what I do means a great deal to me because I know that without my reporting skills and my experience and all of that, I might not have a fighting chance.
There's always a way through things if you work hard enough and look close. It all depends on your level of determination.
But one of the most fantastic things about Ireland and Dublin is that the pubs are like Paris and the cafe culture. And Dublin, in many ways, is a pub culture.
Who is Jesus? The answer to that question is a matter of eternal life and eternal death.