It had all the earmarks of a CIA operation; the bomb killed everybody in the room except the intended target!
A work-room should be like an old shoe; no matter how shabby, it's better than a new one.
I would stay in my room for days, for days at times, just trying to get it together, to know what my next phase was going to be.
How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.
I think I have a lot of room for improvement. My serve is okay, but I need to work on a lot of things: return, transition game, backhand.
Man appears for a little while to laugh and weep, to work and play, and then to go to make room for those who shall follow him in the never-ending cycle.
I think it is possible to be friends even if you're competing. You know, there's so many guys in rooms that try to psych each other out, and it doesn't work. It only hinders their work.
I never want to be anywhere else than in the rehearsal room. I mean, it's so lame to say, but it makes me supremely happy to work with people and to talk and invent and laugh.
Feminism is dead. The movement is absolutely dead. The women's movement tried to suppress dissident voices for way too long. There's no room for dissent.
I don't know why we stopped reading together, but gradually we were not doing it regularly, and then without realizing it was happening we were reading different books, and gradually we came not to care about the book the other one was reading, becau...
I could not give up either of these worlds, neither the book I am holding nor the gleaming forest, though I have told you almost nothing of what is said here on these grim pages, from the sentences of which I’ve conjured images of a bleak site year...
Somos todos mais místicos do que acreditamos ou queremos crer (...). Temos visto mais do que deixamos transparecer, até para nós mesmos. Seja em momentos de beleza ou dor, seja por meio de alguma reviravolta sutil em nossa vida, ao menos vislumbra...
Our society has tried to make death invisible, thinking that if we ignore it long enough it will go away. Often we as family and loved ones are so afraid of death that even mentioning the word to terminal patients is taboo. We think the dying are obl...
Nineteenth-century preacher Henry Ward Beecher's last words were "Now comes the mystery." The poet Dylan Thomas, who liked a good drink at least as much as Alaska, said, "I've had eighteen straight whiskeys. I do believe that's a record," before dyin...
I'm not ill like that," she groaned. He sat on her bed, peeling back the blanket. A servant entered, frowning at the mess on the floor, and shouted for help. "Then it what way?" “I,uh..." Her face was so hot she thought it would melt onto the floor...
Apologizing to me again, thought Miles miserably. For me. He keeps telling me I'm all right—and then apologizing. Inconsistent, Father.He shuffled back and forth across the room again, and his pain burst into speech. He flung his words against the ...
REMEMBER HER- sudden wind come through your open window a silent wave fall inside of room you run to catch your curtain and she is not in that room----- remember her a little you are pushing the door bell and someone else open the main door a seasona...
I took a deep, overly exaggerated breath, the sort of over-the-top gesture that was filmed for commercials about scented laundry detergent, but in this case was my way of trying to absorb every molecule of my old normal life. I loved the smell of the...
A pall fell over the room. A black shroud of disease and deathbeds and all the worst things from all the worst places. This mutant world, a tragic portmanteau, the unnatural marriage of two roots as different as could be. 'And do you, Ability take Vi...
Thomas Button: [runs upstairs to see Caroline and his newborn but sees a room full of people and Caroline bleeding. Soon, the pastor enters the room] What are you doing here? Dr. Rose: Thomas. It's Caroline. She's going to die. Thomas Button: No. No,...
Capt. Ross: Why did you go into Santiago's room that night? Galloway: The witness has rights! Capt. Ross: The witness has been read his rights, Commander! Judge Randolph: The question will be repeated. Galloway: Your Honor! Capt. Ross: Why did you go...
