Anyone who thinks heaven is not hot water behind a locked door has forgotten what it means to live.

First, a bath. I'm feeling soiled. Too much contact with cold reality, I think.

There must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them. Whenever I’m sad I’m going to die, or so nervous I can’t sleep, or in love with somebody I won’t be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: 'I’ll go take a hot bath.'

I meditate in the bath.The water needs to be very hot, so hot you can barely stand putting your foot in it. Then you lower yourself, inch by inch, till the water’s up to your neck.

I remember the ceiling over every bathtub I’ve stretched out in. I remember the texture of the ceilings and the cracks and the colors and the damp spots and the light fixtures. I remember the tubs, too: the antique griffin-legged tubs, and the modern coffin-shaped tubs, and the fancy pink marble tubs overlooking indoor lily ponds, and I remember the shapes and sizes of the water taps and the different sorts of soap holders.

I never feel so much myself as when I’m in a hot bath.

I’m quietly sipping my coffee,
sitting on the deck,
settled in to my little jungle of herbs and buzzing bees,
letting my thoughts wander, soaked in the warmth of the rising sun.
Breathing in and out the soft air
filling the moment with fluids of peace.

The problem that Sharon's exit could cause is that it raises questions about the prospects for peace across the Middle East.

We are going to lose all of our natural gas lines, all of our water lines, many of our power lines, most of our transportation systems. We are going to have a disruption to our infrastructure in a way that is going to take months to recover from.