Is it too much to say that everything you have ever lived and done and tried, whether you succeeded or failed, has purpose and meaning in your life?
How often, in the course of a conversation about politics, society, culture, have you heard the phrase “Any reasonable person would say . . .”? We feel that whatever claim we make after it must be true, but the implication is that those who disagree are unreasonable — and maybe worse.
Brian Doyle ’78 died early Saturday morning, May 27, having been diagnosed with a brain tumor last November. Remembering him now along with so many of his colleagues, fans, friends and family all over the country, we reprint here one of our favorite of his essays, which Brian wrote about his brother, Kevin Doyle ’69, himself dying of cancer in 2012.
I re-read the Ernie Pyle columns in Ernie’s America for many reasons. First, he was an outstanding writer who saw the story inside a person other people might ignore. And, like a lot of us, Pyle was curious. He earned his credibility because he saw things with his own eyes. He reported what he knew, without embellishment.
How is it that a teenage girl, a country miss, was chosen to flank St. Michael the Archangel above the Memorial Door to the Basilica of the Sacred Heart?
Good thing my realistic sense of self is still intact.
Notre Dame’s parting gift to the Class of 2017 was a master class in civil discourse and civil disobedience, and the options available to well-educated men and women in a multicultural democracy.
The not-so-normal early years of Theodore Martin Hesburgh, in honor of his 100th birthday.
Notre Dame fencer Lee Kiefer, the first American woman ever ranked No. 1 in the world, foils her competition.
Exactly one year ago last Monday, I graduated from Notre Dame. What, already? How?!
Having spent most of my life in small Danish towns, I’ve only once experienced someone actually wanting to do me harm — and that was in a bar during my teenage years when I made a ‘Your Mama’ joke aimed at someone whose mama was a sore topic. He forgave me, fortunately.
I’d been hunting for a new fantasy author to read for a while when I came across the name Brent Weeks. He’s relatively new on the scene, with only one completed series and another halfway done. So I set about getting a copy of his finished The Night Angel Trilogy to see if I could add another author to my list of all-time favorites.
What we prize most here is integrity. And a high-flying tuck and flip.
The 6th through 12th graders of the Robinson Shakespeare Company, part of Notre Dame’s Robinson Community Learning Center, have been invited to perform this summer in Stratford-upon-Avon and present a workshop at Shakespeare’s Globe in London. Notre Dame Magazine will report on their journey over the coming months.
Disregarding the antiquated “no politics at the dinner table” rule, Notre Dame students have met regularly for “Pizza, Pop and Politics” discussions this semester. On April 18, over the smell of Bruno’s pizza and the sound of fizzing Coca Cola cans, some 40 of us discussed how Notre Dame students voted in the November election.
It began in the stillness of night, an hour before dawn. Illuminated by only a few flecks of starlight, the Mount of Olives and its surrounding villages had merged into a sea of darkness under the tranquil night sky.
When I was a child, I complained every time my grandfather listened to NPR in the car. I didn’t want to listen to adults talk about adult things like news and politics — I wanted to listen to The Backstreet Boys. Now, I still listen to The Backstreet Boys, but I’m also now addicted to talk radio and, by extension, podcasts.
Hey, I like my bubble. It’s warm and cozy in here.
My experience of Holy Week in Jerusalem this year was marked by deep tragedy and profound compassion, tied together by . . . tattoos.
If the hundreds of people who walked into Washington Hall weren’t already chanting “U-S-A!” in their heads last Tuesday, April 18, around noon, the organizers of the “special naturalization oath ceremony” did everything in their power to change that.
Participating in a Mass from a chapel overlooking Jerusalem during a Spring Break pilgrimage to the Holy Land, the writer remembers how Jesus wept over the city from that very same spot. The vision was both beautiful and terrifying.
While cervical cancer has dropped out of the top 10 cancer killers in most developed countries — thanks to a simple screening test, the Pap smear — it tops the list in Haiti, where Ange is my patient. Yet Ange’s story is no different from the stories of many women in the United States, particularly among the poor and uninsured.
From snarky to sweet, this memoir by lifestyle expert Clinton Kelly gives readers plenty to chew on.
While our heroes take a break backstage, the student body learns a valuable life lesson: There’s no better remedy for lofty aspirations than micromanagement.
I have an ongoing email exchange with a doctor in Pittsburgh whom I’ve never met. Every once in a while, out of the blue, I receive a thank-you note from Kurt Weiss ’97.
Today should be different. Such were the author’s sentiments on a Good Friday long ago in Seattle, Washington.
Frank, my brother-in-law, works in the emergency room of a medical center in Arkansas. About twice a year our families get together for the holidays. We catch up on news, share meals and hear how Frank comes to terms with carnage.
The fact that it’s in a forest is only the beginning of how Emil Olesen’s farm is out of the ordinary.
Our senior university photographer spent a day and a night at the Bengal Bouts finals, getting behind the scenes and up close to the action to capture the spirit of a boxing tournament that has raised essential funds for Holy Cross’ work in Bangladesh since 1931.
How do you turn the home of Fighting Irish basketball into the Notre Dame equivalent of Madison Square Garden on fight night? Watch it all unfold in 30 seconds through the lens of senior university photographer Matt Cashore ’94.