I Regard This Novel As A Work

If Women Can Sleep Their Way To The Top, How Come They Aren't There?

We Each Have A Litany Of Holiday Rituals And Everyday Habits That We Hold On To, And We Often Greet Radical Innovation With The Enthusiasm Of A Baby Meeting A New Sitter. We Defend Against It And - Not Always, But Often Enough - Reject It. Slowly We Adjust, But Only If We Have To.

I Am A Member Of A Small, Nearly Extinct Minority Group, A Kind Of Urban Lost Tribe Who Insist, In The Face Of All Evidence To The Contrary, On The Sanctity Of Being On Time. Which Is To Say That We On-timers Are Compulsively, Unfashionably Prompt, That There Are Only Handfuls Of Us In Any Given City And, Unfortunately, We Never Seem To Have Appointments With Each Other.

I Wonder Whether Our Adoption Of Shrink-ese As A Second Language, The Move From Religious Phrases Of Judgment To Secular Words Of Acceptance, Hasn't Also Produced A Moral Lobotomy. In The Reluctance, The Aversion To Being Judgmental, Are We Disabled From Making Any Judgments At All?

I Don't Know Exactly Why The Notion Of Homeownership Has Such A Grasp On The American Imagination. Perhaps As Descendants Of Landless Immigrants We Turn Our Plots Into Symbols Of Stability.