Word: confess
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...from the raging romantic, Melville's Starbuck was a prudent husband of sober Christian morals. He was the one mariner not afraid to confess his fear of whales, a problematic phobia on a whaling expedition. At the end of the book (sorry to give away those suspenseful 300 last pages), when the ship's captain ruthlessly pursues omnipotent Moby Dick, Starbuck contemplates mutiny. But, his respect for authority outweighs Starbuck's determination to return alive to wife and kids. He puts back the knife and ultimately drowns with the rest of the crew, while chasing the whale. Not quite...
...time I was enrolled, I must confess that I was no fan of high school. Many of my classmates drove me nuts, much of the work was mind-numbing, and my inclinations towards independence sometimes chaffed against parental supervision. But what I didn't realize then, and what I have come to believe now, is that life only gets worse. Sure, college comes with its fair share of perks, but it also delivers a remarkably robust dose of crap. All things considered, high school, especially that second semester of senior year, is the top of the hill...
...from the raging romantic, Melville's Starbuck was a prudent husband of sober Christian morals. He was the one mariner not afraid to confess his fear of whales, a problematic phobia on a whaling expedition. At the end of the book (sorry to give away those suspenseful 300 last pages), when the ship's captain ruthlessly pursues omnipotent Moby Dick, Starbuck contemplates mutiny. But, his respect for authority outweighs Starbuck's determination to return alive to wife and kids. He puts back the knife and ultimately drowns with the rest of the crew, while chasing the whale. Not quite...
John Singer Sargent (1856-1925) was the last great society portraitist--the Van Dyck of his time, as Auguste Rodin was the first to say. Twenty years ago, to confess an admiration (however sneaking) for his work was to invite incredulity. Sargent? That flatterer of the Edwardian rich? That fat-cat holdover, that facile topographer of the social Alps, that living irrelevance to the concerns of modernism? But what goes around comes around. Sargent's reputation is back as though it had never gone away. Once again, if one can judge from the attendance at the Sargent show...
Lest I diverge from the virtuous nature of Euro-Quad life, I now call your attention to the fact that our residents are , on the whole, better looking. I must confess that I have a vested interest in this assertion, but I do believe that it's true. Perhaps our good looks are a benefit derived from all the exercise of walking and/or cycling. The bicycle, by the way, is not only a popular mode of transport but a veritable sport in these parts (Tour de Quad?). On the other hand, maybe our mysterious physical and intellectual appeal results from...