Pm Lee Quotes

It's 5:22pm you're in the grocery checkout line. Your three-year-old is writhing on the floor, screaming, because you have refused to buy her a Teletubby pinwheel. Your six-year-old is whining, repeatedly, in a voice that could saw through cement, "But mommy, puleeze, puleeze" because you have not bought him the latest "Lunchables," which features, as the four food groups, Cheetos, a Snickers, Cheez Whiz, and Twizzlers. Your teenager, who has not spoken a single word in the past foor days, except, "You've ruined my life," followed by "Everyone else has one," is out in the car, sulking, with the new rap-metal band Piss on the Parentals blasting through the headphones of a Discman. To distract yourself, and to avoid the glares of other shoppers who have already deemed you the worst mother in America, you leaf through People magazine. Inside, Uma thurman gushes "Motherhood is Sexy." Moving on to Good Housekeeping, Vanna White says of her child, "When I hear his cry at six-thirty in the morning, I have a smile on my face, and I'm not an early riser." Another unexpected source of earth-mother wisdom, the newly maternal Pamela Lee, also confides to People, "I just love getting up with him in the middle of the night to feed him or soothe him." Brought back to reality by stereophonic whining, you indeed feel as sexy as Rush Limbaugh in a thong.

(Golden Globe acceptance speech in the style of Jane Austen's letters): "Four A.M. Having just returned from an evening at the Golden Spheres, which despite the inconveniences of heat, noise and overcrowding, was not without its pleasures. Thankfully, there were no dogs and no children. The gowns were middling. There was a good deal of shouting and behavior verging on the profligate, however, people were very free with their compliments and I made several new acquaintances. Miss Lindsay Doran, of Mirage, wherever that might be, who is largely responsible for my presence here, an enchanting companion about whom too much good cannot be said. Mr. Ang Lee, of foreign extraction, who most unexpectedly apppeared to understand me better than I undersand myself. Mr. James Schamus, a copiously erudite gentleman, and Miss Kate Winslet, beautiful in both countenance and spirit. Mr. Pat Doyle, a composer and a Scot, who displayed the kind of wild behavior one has lernt to expect from that race. Mr. Mark Canton, an energetic person with a ready smile who, as I understand it, owes me a vast deal of money. Miss Lisa Henson -- a lovely girl, and Mr. Gareth Wigan -- a lovely boy. I attempted to converse with Mr. Sydney Pollack, but his charms and wisdom are so generally pleasing that it proved impossible to get within ten feet of him. The room was full of interesting activitiy until eleven P.M. when it emptied rather suddenly. The lateness of the hour is due therefore not to the dance, but to the waiting, in a long line for horseless vehicles of unconscionable size. The modern world has clearly done nothing for transport. P.S. Managed to avoid the hoyden Emily Tomkins who has purloined my creation and added things of her own. Nefarious creature." "With gratitude and apologies to Miss Austen, thank you.

At a farewell dinner, the editors gave [S.R. Nathan] a porcelain bowl. For the day before he joined us, the PM had told him: "Nathan, I am giving you The Straits Times. It has 140 years of history. It's like a bowl of china. You break it, I can piece it together, but it will never be the same." I was struck by the way the PM made his point – he knew the value and place of The Straits Times in Singapore's past, present and future.

of the most momentous innovations tiptoe quietly onto history’s stage. On August 6, 1991, Berners-Lee was glancing through the Internet’s alt.hypertext newsgroup and ran across this question: “Is anyone aware of research or development efforts in . . . hypertext links enabling retrieval from multiple heterogeneous sources?” His answer, “from: timbl@info.cern.ch at 2:56 pm,” became the first public announcement of the Web. “The WorldWideWeb project aims to allow links to be made to any information anywhere,” he began. “If you’re interested in using the code, mail me.”31 With his low-key personality and even lower-key posting, Berners-Lee did not fathom what a profound idea he had unleashed. Any information anywhere.

faster but the picture remained entirely static. The stillness of a deserted office descended and held steady as time rushed by. “When do the cleaners come in?” Reacher asked. “Just before midnight,” Froelich said. “That late?” “They’re night workers. This is a round-the-clock operation.” “And there’s nothing else visible before then?” “Nothing at all.” “So spool ahead. We get the picture.” Froelich operated the buttons and shuttled between fast-forward with snow on the screen and regular-speed playback with a picture to check the timecode. At eleven-fifty P.M. she let the tape run. The counter clicked ahead, a second at a time. At eleven fifty-two there was motion at the far end of the corridor. A team of three people emerged from the gloom. There were two women and a man, all of them wearing dark overalls. They looked Hispanic. They were all short and compact, dark-haired, stoic. The man was pushing a cart. It had a black garbage bag locked into a hoop at the front, and trays stacked with cloths and spray bottles on shelves at the rear. One of the women was carrying a vacuum cleaner. It rode on

You’re ancient history, Vince. A has-been lining up for four p.m. dinner at the retirement home. You’re not employable as a director anymore.

Jimmy took me to his bedroom. Against one wall was a set of shelves. On the shelves were jars. I said to Jimmy, “Where are the farts?” He said, “You’re looking at them. They’re in the jars.” Of course! It was genius. Fart into a jar and you get to keep it forever. Why hadn’t I thought of it? I had a closer look at the jars on the first shelf. They were labelled with dates, places, and times. The first one said, January 3rd, Sizzler, 6.52pm. On

informed about the danger of ice on the journey. Fleet and Lee were nearing the end of their two-hour shift at around 11:40 pm when Fleet spotted the iceberg that would fell the mighty ship. He followed protocol, immediately issuing a warning and phoning the bridge, where he warned First Officer Murdoch, as the captain had gone to bed for the night. Murdoch ordered the engines reversed and the ship to turn, hoping to avoid the berg completely. But his decision proved fatal, and the starboard (right) side of the ship scraped alongside the jagged ice underneath the water, ripping holes in five of the watertight compartments toward the bow of the ship.