More movement, and the sense of bodies being shackled in alongside of me.
I'll be more enthusiastic about encouraging thinking outside the box when there's evidence of any thinking going on inside it.
I was as scared as I'd ever been. There was screaming everywhere now, and more bodies on the floor, and the press from behind was as relentless as a bulldozer. It was all I could do to keep on my feet.
If you believe the doctors, nothing is wholesome; if you believe the theologians, nothing is innocent; if you believe the military, nothing is safe.
The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive.
If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is the significance of a clean desk?
Feet, why do I need them if I have wings to fly?