Lake breathed out a happy sigh as she approached the row filled with guns. "Matilda was my first, but ladies, you know how to make a girl want to stray.
Jennifer Lynn BarnesStichwörter: raised-by-wolves lake
I can't say what my first thought was as I sunk below the surface, because it was mostly a string of four-letter words.
Rachel HawkinsBecoming a lake has put a lot of things in perspective for me.
Heather ChristleStichwörter: perspective twitter lake
You have the nicest window, you know? None of the others can even compete. It´s not flashy like the others, or bleary – your window gives of this nice, quiet light.
Banana YoshimotoShortly before school started, I moved into a studio apartment on a quiet street near the bustle of the downtown in one of the most self-conscious bends of the world. The “Gold Coast” was a neighborhood that stretched five blocks along the lake in a sliver of land just south of Lincoln Park and north of River North. The streets were like fine necklaces and strung together were the brownstone houses and tall condominiums and tiny mansions like pearls, and when the day broke and the sun faded away, their lights burned like jewels shining gaudily in the night.
The world’s most elegant bazaar, Michigan Avenue, jutted out from its eastern tip near The Drake Hotel and the timeless blue-green waters of Lake Michigan pressed its shores. The fractious make-up of the people that inhabited it, the flat squareness of its parks and the hint of the lake at the ends of its tree-lined streets squeezed together a domesticated cesspool of age and wealth and standing. It was a place one could readily dress up for an expensive dinner at one of the fashionable restaurants or have a drink miles high in the lounge of the looming John Hancock Building and five minutes later be out walking on the beach with pants cuffed and feet in the cool water at the lake’s edge.
Stichwörter: school chicago summer city neighborhood downtown contemporary-fiction contemporary-literature lake
There have been times I have thought some dreams should never be dreamt, but I would hate a world where that was true.
Daniel AmoryStichwörter: dreams dream chicago summer city downtown contemporary-fiction lake contemporary-literarture
It was a generation growing in its disillusionment about the deepening recession and the backroom handshakes and greedy deals for private little pots of gold that created the largest financial meltdown since the Great Depression. As heirs to the throne, we all knew, of course, how bad the economy was, and our dreams, the ones we were told were all right to dream, were teetering gradually toward disintegration. However, on that night, everyone seemed physically at ease and exempt from life’s worries with final exams over and bar class a distant dream with a week before the first lecture, and as I looked around at the jubilant faces and loud voices, if you listened carefully enough you could almost hear the culmination of three years in the breath of the night gasp in an exultant sigh as if to say, “Law school was over at last!
Daniel AmoryStichwörter: chicago summer city downtown contemporary-fiction law-school contemporary-literature lake
Do you want to achieve something or do you just want to make money?” asked a nearby man in a white shirt to another man in a striped shirt. I waited for the answer as I slowly walked past them.
“Why is it an either or question?” the man in the striped shirt finally murmured philosophically under a sip of beer. They both stood there looking at each other in thought.
Stichwörter: life philosophy dream party chicago summer city students downtown law-school lake
This is so funny,” said Ellen, noticing the seating arrangement. “Isn’t this funny? Tom, come sit next to Robin. Griffin, sit next to Laura.”
I stood up and sat next to Robin while Griffin brought his chair over to Laura.
“That’s better,” said Ellen. “Isn’t that better?
Stichwörter: school romance youth dream party chicago student summer city downtown boat law-school lake
The lake of my mind, unbroken by oars, heaves placidly and soon sinks into an oily somnolence.’ That will be useful.
Virginia WoolfSeite 1 von 3.
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