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I have just returned from visiting friends in remote Aboriginal communities. It was a sad trip. A large number of young people have died in recent years, some close friends. They represent the trifecta of young peoples' deaths: car accidents, suicides and chronic disease.
Considering the severity of South Australia's mice infestation and earlier plagues of locusts, you can be forgiven for feeling positively biblical. Many Australians, some in 'high places', need climate change to demonstrate its presence with such murderous, repeated efficiency.
Before being elected Premier, Barry O'Farrell described Sydney's new 200km bike network as 'crazy' and an 'inconvenience' to motorists. Given cycling's overwhelming benefits to society, what's really crazy is O'Farrell's populist pledge to keep Sydney car-dependent into the future.
We need clever strategic and moral thinkers among our health professionals, who can engage with the demands of an aging population, with the gap in life-expectancy between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australians, and with the increasingly politically correct debate about euthanasia.
Following the success of the UN Security Council approved action in Libya, Gaddafi ought to be allowed into some safe international haven. To push hm into a last-ditch Hitlerian bunker stand would cause much unnecessary civilian death and destruction.
It all takes place because of some geological fault. I think God understands more things than he is given credit for.
According to predictions based on earlier floods the ground floor of my house was was going to be inundated, so all our worldies were brought upstairs. We waited. It rained. Then on Tuesday morning something interesting started to happen.
You can't have your cake if it's eaten. Or your cooked goose if it's no good for a gander. Golden eggs are useless in a fragile economy. And what goes up must keep going.
As I reflect back now, I can see the difference between Peter's urge to write and my own. My hero was the master of terseness, Tacitus. But Peter wanted to find words, and ways of putting words together, that could unfold the shape of what lay beyond words.
I have two lasting memories of North Korea. The first was the obstetrics unit of a hospital; it looked like a medieval torture chamber. The second was orphanages where malnourished 14-year-olds looked only eight. The latest escalation of tension can only mean such sights will become more frequent.
Eve isn't sorry that she bit .. into the temptation of the fruit ... She had bloomed. Ripened; tasted truth.
At the IGA, the woman at the check-out peppers her speech with Darl. Her friendliness, the way she packs my plastic bags, greets me two days later – a connection Facebook can’t provide.
133-144 out of 200 results.