All we can do is search for the falsity content in our best theory.
Written on her tombstone: "I told you I was sick.
When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything you gave me'.
Sometimes I can't figure designers out. It's as if they flunked human anatomy.
Time. It hangs heavy for the bored, eludes the busy, flies by the for young, and runs out for the aged.
I don't think women outlive men, Doctor. It only seems longer.
If I had my life to live over again, I would have waxed less and listened more. . . . I would have cried and laughed less while watching television. . . and more while watching real life. . . . But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute of it. . . look at it and really see it. . . try it on. . . live it. . . exhaust it. . . and never give the minute back until there was nothing left of it.
I had a great deal of trouble focusing. My two - I had three children, and the two that survived - boys - were very badly injured. I did my job. I didn't miss the votes. I showed up. But I just could hardly wait to get home.
Destroy them later?" Cal offered, which was probably as close to friendly as he ever got.
Power and position often make a man trifle with the truth.
Age is the first limitation on roles that I've ever had to encounter, and I hit that awhile ago.