He scratched his head and frowned. 'Didn't I read in the paper the other day where they'd finally found out what it was?'
'I missed that,' I murmured.
' I saw that, said Sandra. "About two days ago.'
'That's right,' said the bartender.
'What is the secret of life?' I asked.
'I forget,' said Sandra.
'Protein,' the bartender declared. 'They found out something about protein.'
'Yeah,' said Sandra, 'that's it.
About author
- Author's profession: Author, Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: November 11, 1922
- Died: April 11, 2007
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this is actualy a poemwe have been callednaiveas if it were a dirty word, whe have been calledinnocentas though with shameour cheeks should burnsowe visit withthe careful idolsof cynisismto learn to sneerand pant and walkso as not to feel the scalesof judgement rub wronglybut we saysome things mustremain simplesome things must remainuntouchedand purelest we all forgetthe legacy we begot usthe health of our originsthe poetry of our fundemental selves
Jewel
We have probably wondered in our many lonesome moments if there is one corner in this competitive, demanding world where it is safe to be relaxed, to expose ourselves to someone else, and to give unconditionally. It might be very small and hidden, but if this corner exists, it calls for a search through the complexities of our human relationships in order to find it.
Henri Nouwen