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Once upon a time, when men and women hurtled through the air on metal wings, when they wore webbed feet and walked on the bottom of the sea, learning the speech of whales and the songs of the dolphins, when pearly-fleshed and jewelled apparitions of Texan herdsmen and houris shimmered in the dusk on Nicaraguan hillsides, when folk in Norway and Tasmania in dead of winter could dream of fresh strawberries, dates, guavas and passion fruits and find them spread next morning on their tables, there was a woman who was largely irrelevant, and therefore happy.
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Doing Shakespeare in the Park has always been a dream. Everyone else says Hamlet, but I want to play Romeo.
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You have to dream before your dreams can come true.
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Reality is like a fruitcake; pretty enough to look at but with all sorts of nasty things lurking just beneath the surface.
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There is a beautiful and life-enhancing alternative outlook that offers insight, consolation, inspiration and meaning, which has nothing to do with religion, and everything to do with the best, most generous, most sympathetic understanding of human reality.
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We hope we're better. The reality is we had a pretty darn good team last year. But you can't just throw your gloves out there and be good again. We want to take that next step as a team.
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Reality is painful -- it's so much easier to keep doing stuff you know you're good at or else to pick something so hard there's no point at which it's obvious you're failing -- but it's impossible to get better without confronting it.
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Action is the only reality; not only reality, but morality as well.
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Some of my academic friends think Ive fallen from a very special grace.
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I think I feel rather differently about sympathy to what seems the normal view. I like just to feel it is there, but not always expressed.
