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Hastings Center Report, 2007
My husband brings his work home. Had he been a butcher, it might have been a prime cut of steak; a mason, a block of limestone. The newspaper reporter brings home fingers covered in ink, and the fishmonger, the smell of the sea. But my husband is an oncologist, so he brings home the dead and dying. This makes our king-size bed rather crowded.
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My husband brings his work home. Had he been a butcher, it might have been a prime cut of steak; a mason, a block of limestone. The newspaper reporter brings home fingers covered in ink, and the fishmonger, the smell of the sea. But my husband is an oncologist, so he brings home the dead and dying. This makes our king-size bed rather crowded.
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American Journal of Sociology, 1946
I was married on August 4, I9I4. (Mark the date please.) My wife was then about fifteen years of age and I was about twentyfive. She died on March I3, I945. We, therefore, spent about thirty-one years of married life together. According to our custom I had no opportunity of meeting her before our marriage.
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I was married on August 4, I9I4. (Mark the date please.) My wife was then about fifteen years of age and I was about twentyfive. She died on March I3, I945. We, therefore, spent about thirty-one years of married life together. According to our custom I had no opportunity of meeting her before our marriage.
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