But she was uncomfortable with what the professors called "participation," and did not see why it should be part of the final grade; it merely made students talk and talk, class time wasted on obvious words, hollow words, sometimes meaningless words.
They sat around, reading the book themselves, listening to me read the book, and a kind of paradise was regained.
Speaking of death in English has always had, for me, a disquieting finality.
Above, clouds like dyed cotton wool hang low, so low I feel I can reach out and squeeze the moisture from them.
When a house is on fire, you run out before the roof collapses on your head.
Morality, as well as the sense of taste, is relative.