Word: aimed
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...there is anything he dislikes more than editorial conductors, it is critics. Says Stravinsky: "They must be as competent as I, to be able to criticize my aim.* They are not ripe enough to judge. I am too sure of what I am doing. I am not perfection but they cannot know...
...other arts because it combines all of them." Last January he set up an organization to visualize his vision. With Photographer Robert Capa, former United Artists Radio Director Henry S. White and RKO's Vice President Phil Reisman, he incorporated an outfit called World Video. Their aim: to build and film good shows, sell them to the television networks...
...house by the sea, dragging a sprained ankle, comes Ross Dennehay, a deserter from the U.S. Army in England. An amoral boor whose only aim is to get back to the U.S. and some easy wartime money, he has already killed two people in making his getaway. Edwina hides him for ten days, nurses him, becomes his mistress. She stands in horror of his past, suffers from his coarseness, even realizes that Dennehay wouldn't hesitate to kill her at the first suspicious move. But greater than her revulsion and fear is the larger fear of the lonesomeness that...
...Glades, from the voice of a nightingale piped through the grounds and mortuary buildings to the Lake Isle of Innisfree, complete with nine rows of beans and beeless beehives with electric buzzers (burial plots $1,000). Most amusing is the love of Mr. Joyboy, the senior mortician, and Miss Aimée Thanatogenos, his assistant, uttered in an American idiom which Author Waugh has not entirely mastered. Their passion, unrolling between the refrigerators and the crematory, is alternately hot & cold. They play games of hearts & flowers with the corpses. When the lovers tiffed, the corpses looked "woebegone and reproachful." When...
...cremate her at the dog & cat cemetery. While she is volatilizing, Dennis "entered the office and made a note in the book kept there for that purpose. Tomorrow and on every anniversary as long as the Happier Hunting Ground existed, a postcard would go to Mr. Joyboy: Your little Aimée is wagging her tail in heaven tonight, thinking...