“Time” says the proverb “is money”. This means that every moment well-spent may put some money into our pockets. If our time is usefully employed, it will either turn out some useful and important piece of work which will fetch its price in the market, or it will add to our experience and increase our capacities so as to enable us to earn money when the proper opportunity comes. There can thus be no doubt that time is convertible into money. Let those who think nothing of wasting time, remember this; let them remember that an hour misspent is equivalent to the loss of a bank-note; and that an hour utilized is tantamount to so much silver or gold; and then they will probably think twice before they give their consent to the loss of any part of their time.
Advice to “sleep on it” could be well founded, scientists say. After a good night’s sleep a problem that seemed insurmountable the night before can often appear more manageable, although the evidence until now has been anecdotal. But researchers at the University of Luebek in Germany have designed an experiment that shows a good night’s sleep can improve insight and problem-solving. “If you have some newly acquired memories in your brain sleep acts on these memories, restructures them, so that after sleep insight into a problem which you could not solve before increases.” Said Dr. Jan Born, a neuroscientist, at the university.
He created Mickey Mouse and produced the first full-length animated movie. He invented the theme park and originated the modem multimedia corporation. For better or worse, his innovations have shaped our world and the way we experience it. But the most significant thing Walt Disney made was a good name for himself.
It was, of course, long ago converted into a brand name, constantly fussed over, ferociously defended, first by Disney, latterly by his corporate heirs and assigns. Serving as a beacon for parents seeking clean, decent entertainment for their children, the Disney logo-a stylized version of the founder’s signature—more generally promises us that anything appearing beneath is will not veer too far from the safe, sound and above all cheerful American mainstream, which it defines as much as serves.
Now the dreadful winter was come upon them. In the forest, all summer long, the branches of the trees do battle for light, and some of them lose and die; and then come the raging blasts, and the storms of snow and hail, and strew the ground with these weaker branches. Just so it was in Packing town; the whole district braced itself for the struggle that was an agony, and those whose time has come died off in hordes.
It was Tipper Gore’s first solo campaign outing of the year, ad daylong sprint across New Hampshire on a miserable snowy day in January. Mrs. Gore cheerfully trudged from hospital to meeting hall, shaking hands, talking up her husband—and giving voters an up-close look at the lady who would be First Lady. Back home in Washington, A1 Gore spent the day wondering how his wife was really handling the northern exposure. Private and wary of the rigors of campaign life. Tipper has often been a reluctant public figure.
