My dad was a congressman, and he taught me at a very early age, 'They voted for me, they view me as theirs, and I am.' Our family's phone in Memphis was always listed. It rang all day and all night.
Today, most young women are exposed to technology at a very young age, with mobile phones, tablets, the Web or social media. They are much more proficient with technology than prior generations since they use it for all their school work, communicati...
Unlike painting, sculpture, or music, typefaces must be useful to someone. Fortunately for designers, the digital age has produced new problems to solve - developing typefaces that work on mobile phones, for one - and enabled better solutions to old ...
The only time I eat alone is if I'm really tired or upset about something or on the phone to one of my friends, when it's easier to be alone. But you can't be too wrapped up in yourself... it starts making you look a little bit prima donna.
I'm rarely in a position where I can actually answer my phone without being rude to someone else. Sometimes I look back and realize it's been weeks since I've actually been alone. With texting, I can at least get a sense of what's going on without in...
Every character in a story, I thought when I had folded up the phone, has both a purpose and a secret purpose.
I shouted into the phone, but there was no reply. Silence floated up from the receiver like smoke from the mouth of a gun.
I am a mathematician and I can confidently say that the best figure ever produced is your phone number.
Don’t let your phone calls, online chats, and other trivial activities manage you. You have to manage them because they don’t have the dreams to fulfill; you have the dreams.
We play phone tag, back and forth, the kind of tag where it's clear we're avoiding each other, where no one wants to be touched, tagged, you're it
I didn’t call her, but the phone works two ways. So does my love.
A gust of wind doesn't suddenly bang a door open. A clock doesn't chime. The phone doesn't ring. Yet in the next instant the stillness breaks as if it is crystal.
The phone collapsed distances, just as the radio did, and, like the radio, it relied on the miracle of imagination: one had to concentrate deeply, plunge headlong into it.
Friday dusk becomes Friday evening. The park is feverish with life. A young Asian man screams into his mobile phone, not stopping to listen: a young man with his heart in his penis.
My phone is on my bed, whispering in my ear like a bottle of scotch to a recovering alcoholic, while the rain continues cackling at me through my window
This is how most stories end in the hospital. Not with crash carts and sirens and electric shocks to the chest, but with an empty room, a crisp white bed, silence.
But the thought of New Zealand instantly sent her mind to Watson, the possibly-Australian, possibly-Kiwi, definitely paranormal young fellow with videos of dead guys on his phone.
I thought if I didnt take a break, I would do something even worse. Like yell or hang up the phone.
My phone rang a long time, so I answered. How long? Eight feet long. My last relationship was half that long. I should be taller in love.
I hung up the phone, jubilant, and threw myself into a wall, then pretended to be getting electrocuted. I do this when I'm very happy.
That actually is one of my huge challenges right now because I write best at night, no question. I can focus. You know you're not getting any phone calls, I can shut everything down, and I'm just more creative at night.
