For me, the brightest years at IronPort were without a doubt the darkest years at home.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
When my daughter was ill in Great Ormond Street, it was the darkest period of my life.
The older I get, the more I see that there really aren't huge zeniths of happiness or a huge abyss of darkness as much as there used to be. I tend to walk a middle ground.
I find that the older I get, the more I see that there really aren't huge zeniths of happiness or a huge abyss of darkness as much as there used to be.
The world at night, for much of history, was a very dark place indeed.
In the streets through which we passed, I must own the houses in general struck me as if they were dark and gloomy, and yet at the same time they also struck me as prodigiously great and majestic.
These are not dark days: these are great days - the greatest days our country has ever lived.
I grew up in that era of Hendrix and Joplin and The Doors, and the Summer of Love and Haight-Ashbury, and even the Panthers. That was my era; that's what I was into.
The war broke out, and for a number of years I lived in darkness, with the memory of the lakes, the trees and the skies of Sweden, until I returned in 1946 to spend two unforgettable years in the laboratory of Hugo Theorell.
I had a wonderful childhood, but I was a wanderer from year one.
The summer of 1943 at Exeter was as happy a time as I ever had in my life.
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