Word: brickely
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...paying the astronomical rent that the location demands. Professors and students sit in genteel cafés, gesturing animatedly while discussing the merits of Rawls’ “Theory of Justice” or the latest breakthrough in quantum mechanics. Tourists wander the Square’s brick-paved sidewalks, catching glimpses of Harvard proper over the tall wrought iron fence. But the area has little local flavor of its own, resembling an upscale mall more than it does a neighborhood marketplace...
...wander out into the real world, I can’t help but think that countless undergrads will have shared my reflective stumblings through the Yard, contemplating their disappointments and pleasures in the shadows of our famous brick. Somewhere in that classic landscape, our thoughts and experiences overlap. It’s the impression I’ve now made of Harvard, more than any property intrinsic to this institution that I’m beginning to cherish. It’s not the exact image of the tourists, the media, my professors, or even other students, but it?...
...education here. So often in my four years at Harvard, I’ve walked through the Yard, absorbing the crisp sights and sounds of this academic playground with more than my fair share of cynicism and disdain. Bitter, acerbic, jaded, I would sweep my eyes from brick to branch disappointed and disaffected with certain elements of my education. “This is the best school in the world?” I would think after a Shakespeare section with a foreign teaching fellow who had hardly mastered conversational English, let alone the ability to express the rich...
...with the Pope pausing to pray at memorials in the different languages of the 1.5 million killed. But by the time he reached the final plaque, the rain had stopped, the umbrellas were tucked away, and the pack of reporters noticed that across the broad field of half-standing brick barracks of Birkenau, a vivid rainbow had appeared. The editors of TIME, like those who A. M. Rosenthal worked for back in the 1950s, would surely not normally consider this news. But on a day that the German Pope came to Auschwitz to ponder God?s silence, that surprising explosion...
...first the Catalina apartment complex was nice and quiet, Johnson says. The apartments are bordered by a brick wall with New Orleans--style lamps. But as weeks went by and more evacuees moved in, he started spending more time inside. He and Robertson, who had worked as a cook in the French Quarter, cooked dinner at each other's apartments and watched TV. Soon almost everyone in Johnson's building was from New Orleans...