Everyone in yuppie-land? airports, for example? looks like a nursing baby these days, inseparable from their plastic bottles of water. Here, however, I sweat without replacement or pause, not in individual drops but in continuous sheets of fluid soaking through my polo shirt, pouring down the backs of my legs ... Working my way through the living room(s), I wonder if Mrs. W. will ever have occasion to realize that every single doodad and objet through which she expresses her unique, individual self is, from another vantage point, only an obstacle between some thirsty person and a glass of water.
Barbara EhrenreichAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: August 26, 1941
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The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect, So hard to earn so easily burned. In the fullness of time, A garden to nurture and protect. It's a measure of a life. The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect, The way you live, the gifts that you give. In the fullness of time, It's the only return that you expect
Neil Peart
Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her. After several long moments, or it might have been half an hour-or possibly several sunlit days- they broke apart.
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