One of the big lessons I have learnt from my life is that things are never as difficult as they seem. When you actively plunge into it, you realize you can easily do it.
Ever since I took the plunge into active politics, I faced a fair amount of attacks and criticism from political rivals, and I had learnt to take it with a pinch of salt.
I credit my singing to my mom because she didn't give me a binky when I was a baby. I cried and screamed for the first six months - my mom would say four years of my life - and I developed wonderful lungs.
If producing a regular column is living out loud, then keeping a daily blog is living at the top of your lungs. For a couple of months there, I was shrieking like a banshee.
He decided to plunge on with pardons over the department's objections, or where he knew that there would be objections if he had let career prosecutors know what he was doing.
As long as there's breath in our lungs our story is still being written.
The common, the quotidian, is so much more unyielding to me, really stubborn and hard to work with, and I like this because it makes me think and it makes me worry. I can't just plunge my hand into the meat of it. I need new approaches.
The longest sword, the strongest lungs, the most voices, are false measures of truth.
I grew up in Manchester, and we were very poor. My father was a miner who joined the Navy during the war and developed a lung disease and had to have a lung removed.
I know patients who bring a dozen roses to the doctor's office. And, boy, the next visit, nobody forgets that. You come in and hey - 'Here's the lady who brought the roses' vs. 'Here's the lung cancer.'
