She was walking home from work one evening when she got the idea. Rosa didn't like her job at the factory, but it was better than no job at all. So, while she was trying not to think about work, she saw the pots in an alley. They were cheap plastic pots, but there were dozens of them piled up behind the flower shop. Such a waste, she thought. When the pots were still there three days later, Rosa went in and asked if she could take some. The flower shop lady said she didn't mind, so Rosa carried home a tower of pots, pretending she was a circus performer on the way.

    At home, Rosa set them on the fire escape outside her tiny apartment. And there they sat. Once a gust of wind sent them slipping to the street three floors below, and she had to go to run after and catch them before the gathering storm.

    Every day, Rosa went to work and thought about her pots- She was wailing for something, but she had patience.

    At last, the newspaper brought good news. A hardware store had a sale on potting soil. Rosa carefully counted her money, then walked six blocks to the store. She bought six bags and carried them home. She bought seeds, too. Rosa slept well that night and dreamed of masses of flowers and fat, glowing fruits,

    Sundays were always good days. Rosa didn't have to work on Sundays. But Rosa couldn't remember when she had had such a good Sunday. She got up early and ate her breakfast on the fire escape with her pots. Then, she began to put dirt into the pots. She sang a little song until all six of her bags of soil were empty. Then, she laid her precious seed packets out and planned her garden. Tomatoes for the biggest pots, and peppers for the next-biggest ones. Flowers in all the rest.

    At the end of the day, Rosa sat in her garden and watched the sunset. Soon, she thought, there will be masses of flowers and fat, glowing fruits.

    It was warm for a Sunday afternoon in early January. Kevin loved being outdoors among the wild rosebushes in front of his house with a view of distant mountains.

    It had been a good day for his wife, Sharon, too. They spent the morning in front of the house, talking and drinking tea. Sharon felt strong and tried her best to cook, starting a pot of homemade soup — a task that would have been nothing a few years ago, but is a little hard for her now. Her illness had left her weak, often puzzled.

    Sharon was the take-charge person in the family. She was seldom sick until 1997, when she began suffering from terrible headaches. One day at work, colleagues said she didn't look right and urged(敦促) her to go to the hospital. She rose from her chair and fell over. She could hear voices, but couldn't speak. It looked as if she'd had a stroke(中风).

    Other stroke-like symptoms (症状) followed. She had difficulty walking. She ran a fever all the time. The headaches never stopped. She and Kevin spent all their savings seeing doctors and on medical tests.

    In 2000, physicians said Sharon had brain damage that left her with symptoms resembling dementia (痴呆症). Once, she visited a familiar store and couldn't remember where the exit was. Another time, she was making spaghetti, but didn't know what to do after the water boiled.

    After seeing specialists, Kevin and Sharon came to believe that exposure(接触) to mould(霉菌) had caused Sharon's condition. Her world was certainly getting worse. At times she needed a wheelchair. The woman who never liked asking for help had to stay at home and rely on her husband.

    I first met Paul Newman in 1968, when George Roy Hill, the director of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, introduced us in New York City. When the studio didn't want me for the film - it wanted somebody as well known as Paul — he stood up for me. I don't know how many people would have done that; they would have listened to their agents or the studio powers.

    The friendship that grew out of the experience of making that film and The Sting four years later had its root in the fact that although there was an age difference, we both came from a tradition of theater and live TV. We were respectful of craft(技艺) and focused on digging into the characters we were going to play. Both of us had the qualities and virtues that are typical of American actors: humorous, aggressive, and making fun of each other — but always with an underlying affection. Those were also at the core(核心) of our relationship off the screen.

    We shared the brief that if you're fortunate enough to have success, you should put something back — he with his Newman's Own food and his Hole in the Wall camps for kids who are seriously ill, and me with Sundance and the institute and the festival. Paul and I didn't see each other all that regularly, but sharing that brought us together. We supported each other financially and by showing up at events.

    I last saw him a few months ago. He'd been in and out of the hospital. He and I both knew what the deal was, and we didn't talk about it. Ours was a relationship that didn't need a lot of words.

    That cold January night, I was growing sick of my life in San Francisco. There I was, walking home at one in the morning after a tiring practice at the theater. With opening night only a week away, I was still learning my lines. I was having trouble dealing with my part-time job at the bank and my acting at night at the same time. As I walked, I thought seriously about giving up both acting and San Francisco. City life had become too much for me.

    As I walked down empty streets under tall buildings, I felt very small and cold. I began running, both to keep warm and to keep away any possible robbers. Very few people were still out except a few sad-looking homeless people under blankets.

About a block from my apartment, I heard a sound behind me. I turned quickly, half expecting to see someone with a knife or a gun. The street was empty. All I saw was a shining streetlight. Still, the noise had made me nervous, so I started to run faster. Not until I reached my apartment building and unlocked the door did I realize what the noise had been. It had been my wallet falling to the sidewalk.

    Suddenly I wasn't cold or tired anymore. I ran out of the door and back to where I'd heard the noise. Although I searched the sidewalk anxiously for fifteen minutes, my wallet was nowhere to be found.

    Just as I was about to give up the search, I heard the garbage truck pull up to the sidewalk next to me. When a voice called from the inside, "Alisa Camacho？" I thought I was dreaming. How could this man know my name？ The door opened, and out jumped a small red-haired man with an amused look in his eyes. "Is this what you're looking for？" he asked, holding up a small square shape.

    It was nearly 3 a. m. by the time I got into bed. I wouldn't get much sleep that night, but I had got my wallet back. I also had got back some enjoyment of city life. I realized that the city couldn't be a bad place as long as people were willing to help each other.

    The world's richest man might seem to have it all, but Bill Gates has one regret. The self-made billionaire said he felt stupid for not knowing any foreign languages.

    Speaking in his third Ask Me Anything question-and-answer session for online forum Reddit(红迪网), the Microsoft founder said that he wished he spoke French, Arabic or Chinese.

    He said, "I took Latin and Greek in high school and got As and I guess it helps my vocabulary. I keep hoping to get time to study one of these—probably French because it is the easiest. I did Duolingo for a while but didn't keep it up."

    Gates, who is worth $79.3 billion, praised Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg for surprising an audience in Beijing when he spoke fluent Chinese. "Mark Zuckerberg amazingly learned Chinese and did a Q & A with Chinese students—unbelievable, isn't it?" he said.

    This isn't the first time for Gates to admit his regret over language. He also showed his habits at home and personal insights.

    Last February, Gates said he likes to do the dishes himself—to his own special standards every night and also told the interviewer that his wife, Melinda, would likely want Samuel L. Jackson to play her husband in a biopic(传记片).

    He also admitted that he would pick up a $100 bill if he found it on the street.

    As he took the top spot on Forbes(福布斯) 28th Annual Billionaires list last year for the fourth time, he said he is pretty basic when it comes to spending on clothes and food, but that he enjoys investing in shoes and rackets(球拍) when he plays tennis.

    When asked a life lesson he had to learn the hard way, the billionaire said staying up too late is a habit he is still trying to break. "Don't stay up too late even if the book is really exciting. You will regret it in the morning. Pam is still working on this problem," he said.

Flying High

    Barrington Irving landed his record-breaking light at age 23 and founded an educational nonprofit organization. His message for kids: "The only thing that separates you from scientists is determination, hard work and a strong liking for what you want to achieve." The secret, he believes, is having a dream in the first place.

    The moment of inspiration for Irving came at the age of 15 in his parents' bookstore. One customer, a professional pilot, asked Irving if he'd thought about becoming a pilot. "I told him I didn't think I was smart enough; but the next day he took me to the cockpit (驾驶舱) of the commercial airplane he flew and just like that I was hooked."

    To follow his dream, Irving Turned down a football scholarship to the University of Florida. He washed airplanes to earn money for a flight school and increased his flying skills by practicing at home on a $40 flight simulator (模拟) video game. Then another dream took hold: flying alone around the world. He faced more than 50 rejections for sponsorship before convincing some companies to donate aircraft components. He took off with no weather radar, no de-icing system, and just $30 in his pocket.

    After 97 days, 26 stops and dozens of thunderstorms, he touched down to a cheering crowd in Miami. "It was seeing so many young people watching and listening that pushed me into giving back with my knowledge an experience." Irving has been doing it ever since. He set up his non-profit organization, Experience Aviation (航空), aiming to increase the numbers of youth in aviation career. By bring challenging project-based learning, hands-on and other educational opportunities to school districts and local communities nationwide, the organization has excited the hearts and minds of youth. "We want to create chances for students to accomplish something amazing," he notes. Perhaps Irving's most powerful educational tool is the example his own life provides.