He had had a deadly variant of leukemia and maybe a few months left to live. Now there is no trace of the disease
In Times Square, in the middle of Manhattan, I make my way into the huge Marriott Marquis hotel. I step into a glass elevator, which hangs on the outside of a column in the huge atrium. While we ascend, I get views of different worlds.
You don’t expect to find insights into our troubled times from the Flemish Old Masters. But on a recent trip to Brussels I found myself wandering into the Royal Museum of Fine Arts.
On a rainy morning in early January, the two of us descend into the catacombs beneath Princeton’s Firestone Library to read the most famous sealed library archive in the world.
As I walk into the new Amazon bookstore that just opened on Columbus Circle in Manhattan, I have a disorienting feeling that I have not entered a bookstore but...
When I walk into the radio studio on the 36th floor of an apartment building in Manhattan for an interview, I suddenly arrive in the middle of a rehearsing...
"We didn’t come this far, to only come this far.” Those are the words on the banner an older black woman is carrying through the streets of Princeton.
I am no longer the same as I was before the pandemic. I can’t just pick up my old life, pretend there’s not a half-year gap. Social contact, I read, is one of the most complicated things for our brain.
The Dutch have adopted a do-it-your-way attitude toward social rules. American social life, in contrast, operates by rules that are often unspoken but rigorously observed.
There are two temples in Robbinsville: one for spiritual needs, the other for material desires.