In my heart, I'm an Alabaman who went up north to work.
School didn't work for me. I hated it.
Work is valued by the social value of the worker.
Evidently the merit depends on the result of the work.
For too many, to work means having less income.
No longer diverted by other emotions, I work the way a cow grazes.
Nothing will work unless you do.
I know it's a cliche, but I didn't want to work in an office.
You learn a lot about yourself doing physical work.
Reality is the scary thing. Not my work, not comedy.
When I want to work on my material, I go to Benihana or the barbershop.
The harder I work, the luckier I become.
The real essence of work is concentrated energy.
Work is my salvation. It changes my moods.
Should a writer have a social purpose? Any honest writer is bound to become a critic of the society he lives in, and sometimes, like Mark Twain or Kurt Vonnegut or Leo Tolstoy or Francois Rabelais, a very harsh critic indeed. The others are sycophant...
Adam is fading out. It is on account of Darwin and that crowd. I can see that he is not going to last much longer. There's a plenty of signs. He is getting belittled to a germ—a little bit of a speck that you can't see without a microscope powerful...
Anything to declare? the customs inspector said."Two pound of uncut heroin and a manual of pornographic art," Mark answered, looking about for Kity. All Americans are comedians, the inspector thought, as he passed Parker through. A government tourist...
Annabeth wanted to sob. She wanted someone, anyone to be here for her. She wanted Leo with his fire skills, or Jason with his lightning, or Hazel to collapse the tunnel. Most of all she wanted Percy. She always felt braver when Percy was with her.
One false step, and you’ll fall all the way to Tartarus—and believe me, unlike the Doors of Death, this would be a one-way trip, a very hard fall! I will have you dying before you tell me your plan for my artwork.
If you ever leave me again,’ she said, her eyes stinging, ‘I swear to all the gods-‘ Percy had the nerve to laugh. Suddenly the lump of heated emotions melted inside Annabeth. ‘Consider me warned,’ Percy said. ‘I missed you, too.
Percy looked at Coach Hedge and Frank. “A trap?” “Probably,” Frank said. “She’s not mortal,” Hedge said, sniffing the air. “Probably some kind of goat-eating, demigod-destroying fiend from Tartarus.” “No doubt,” Percy agreed. �...
