“Boswell, with some of his troublesome kindness, has informed this family, and reminded me that the eighteenth of September is my birthday. The return of my birthday, if I remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to be the general care of humanity to escape. I can now look back upon threescore and four years, in which little has been done, and little has been enjoyed, a life diversified by misery, spent part in the sluggishness of penury, and part under the violence of pain, in gloomy discontent, or importunate distress. But perhaps I am better than I should have been, if I had been less afflicted. With this I will try to be content.”
I'm posting this in honor of Samuel Johnson's 300th birthday and my day.
Remember my drug-dealing neighbor? Well, I'm starting to get a little concerned. Last night while we were talking in the living room with the door cracked open a millimeter or two because we were on our way out, I was was surprised by a knock at the door. I was surprised because I wasn't expecting anyone, and it was a little late for a drop-in visit. (I'm not even sure anyone knows where I live anyway.) It turned out to be my neighbor just being neighborly by making sure we hadn't fallen asleep with the door open.
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Does that mean that your neighbor was being neighborly or that if no one had responded to his knock that he had ready a pair of black gloves in his pocket?
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