Word: feel
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1990-1999
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...your time on an activity you don't like. Chances are it's not about to improve. There are so many opportunities and not that much time so concentrate your energies on what you love. Another piece of advice is to stick with the small groups. They end to feel less like a corporation and more like a community...
...distance from the bookcase to the bed should be exactly four paces. I long for the precision of space I know. Now, missing the feel of moving through darkness with confidence, I turn the lights on when I get a midnight urge to wander. Am I afraid of bruising the white walls? Or am I afraid they will bruise me? Before, I could navigate a labyrinth of rooms and corridors in pitch-blackness. I had breathed it in so thoroughly that I had even memorized which wooden floorboards murmured at my step. Silence was easy. That house was comfortable, settled...
...later, and I love singing about Harvard's sons. I don't know exactly what it is that enables me to tacitly accept the historical connotations of the first line. I am fond of the song for its archaic language, its connection to Harvard's past; it gives the feeling that you are one in a long and honorable Harvard tradition. But what endears "Fair Harvard" to me most is that when we sing it, we do so in the company and thoughts of people who have truly made our Harvard experiences special. The song is almost sacred...
...feel a little guilty for not supporting "We join in thy jubilee throng," but it's such a little thing that doesn't accomplish anything. It only reminds us of how powerful our discomfort about our history is, and how desperately we keep trying to fix what is still not perfect about Harvard. I am probably one of about five people who care about the lyrics to a song that about 5 percent of the Harvard undergraduate population knows. In several years the old lyrics will have faded from memory and nobody's life will be any different because...
...distance from the bookcase to the bed should be exactly four paces. I long for the precision of space I know. Now, missing the feel of moving through darkness with confidence, I turn the lights on when I get a midnight urge to wander. Am I afraid of bruising the white walls? Or am I afraid they will bruise me? Before, I could navigate a labyrinth of rooms and corridors in pitch-blackness. I had breathed it in so thoroughly that I had even memorized which wooden floorboards murmured at my step. Silence was easy. That house was comfortable, settled...