Word: compassion
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...ethical weight thus seems overwhelmingly in opposition to any pardons. But if the President decides to follow his own moral compass, it will probably be out of a sense of loyalty to those involved and a determination, as Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes once wrote of an earlier pardon, "that the public welfare will be better served...
...with a show called Gilligan's Island, I'll turn the Tanners' backyard into a lagoon. If I don't like the President's policy on nuclear arms, I'll phone him on Air Force One and explain how we incinerated Melmac. Still the same old me: no moral compass, no sense of proportion, no fear. I still break things a lot too. I learned the hard way that you can't smoke fish in a toaster, puree a rock in a blender or light an oven an hour after you turn on the gas. I even accidentally scared...
...exhibition is an example of the more practical applications of the tangram. During World War I the popularity of this puzzle provided a manufacturer with a chance to help Allied prisoners escape; Red Cross care packages contained tangram puzzles in wooden boxes, many of which had a hacksaw, a compass, and a map concealed in a false wall...
...Aviation Museum, the chipper Corrigan, now 80, accepted an altimeter symbolizing his famous flight. The young airplane mechanic took off from Floyd Bennett Field in New York City, heading for California in his rickety Curtiss monoplane. With nothing guiding him save his taste for adventure and his temperamental compass, Corrigan landed some 28 hours later in what he thought was Los Angeles. "I've just flown from New York," he called out as he hopped from the plane. "By the way, where am I?" The Irish brogues of the puzzled mechanics swarming around the airplane informed...
Still I remained at zero, the mid-point between Nothingness and anti-Nothingness, which did not necessarily imply Somethingness, but merely the oppositional juxtaposition of elemental thingnesslessness in the compass of universal nessness. Then, I thought of beating around the burning angst-bush that served as the canine existential dogma that blocked my odyssey. I caught on fire, burning, screaming no one heard me, I thought, except the Hearer, who was asleep for a few hours. I was in pain, but thankfully was saved by a Jorge-Luis Borges short story...