I think these are very precarious times for women, it seems. So many of your rights are under assault.
Women are always most observed when they seem themselves least to observe, or to lay out for observation.
I have seen so many extraordinary things that nothing seems extraordinary to me
How starved they seemed for ordinary kindness
The city buildings in the distance are holding up the sky, it seems.
War’s all either country knows, and everything seems to depend on it now.
The Kiss. It seemed like more than a kiss. It felt more like alchemy.
I have never been a violent man. Just a little creepy, it seems.
Confusion of goals and perfection of means seems, in my opinion, to characterize our age.
Paradoxical as it may seem, to believe in youth is to look backward; to look forward we must believe in age.
The reason for the slow progress of the world seems to lie in a single fact. Every man is born under the yoke, and grows up beneath the oppressions of his age.
I got into journalism because I came of age in the '60s. It just seemed one way for me to get things done.
I always sort of swooned at the sight of the classic barn structures in central and northern Minnesota, where everything seemed rustic and weathered and made to age gracefully.
How one hates to think of oneself as alone. How one avoids it. It seems to imply rejection or unpopularity.
Work doesn't seem to interfere with my life. I have time for everything, even time to be alone.
I believe a kid who is playing is not alone. There is something brought alive during play, and this something, when played with, seems to play back.
After I lost my fiance, it seemed like it would be better to always be alone than to risk being hurt again.
It seems a fantastic paradox, but it is nevertheless a most important truth, that no architecture can be truly noble which is not imperfect.
I grew up when people seemed actually to be hurting themselves for their art. Of course, some of it was phony.
The greatest work of art about New York? The question seems nebulous. The city's magic and majesty are distilled in the photographs of Alfred Stieglitz and Paul Strand.
The universe, it seemed, was full to brimming with lonesome places.
