We know these men are professionals whose services are up for bid and whose bags are packed, and yet we call them our own and take personal, even civic pride in their accomplishments.

If you get too slow, the listener’s attention wanders and the information is lost.

In her minds eye she sat there, in the domesticated golden sunlight on the velvet sofa, lapped around by carpets and books and mahogany, solitary and content, as if, in fact, cloistered.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

Written By Lord Byron

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