Word: ascent
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Family Curse. Well, according to Woody, his ascent has been a series of painful falls. Success hasn't changed him, Allen insists: he's still a schlemiel. "I'm afraid of the dark and suspicious of the light," he says. "I have an intense desire to return to the womb-anybody's." Ineptitude, Woody goes on, is a family curse. The Allens date back to Rome, where they catered orgies. They later surfaced in England in 1500-they wanted to go to Italy for the Renaissance, but couldn't get hotel reservations. They came finally...
...rover's remote-controlled camera-provided spectators on earth with a grandstand view, Orion's upper stage shot up above a spray of colored debris from the lower stage's protective gold foil. The camera worked so well that Houston could follow Orion's ascent for nearly two minutes, until the little craft was no more than a speck of light against the utter blackness of space. Later, after Orion locked with Casper in moon orbit, Young and Duke rejoined Mattingly, who could not resist twitting them about all the dust and debris they were bringing...
...most of those two millenniums, "Next year in Jerusalem!" was only a dream, a burning reason to stay alive in the midst of the Diaspora (the Exile) and often calumny and pogrom. In recent years the real possibility of aliyah ("ascent" to the homeland) has been realized. Jerusalem is accessible, for the moment at least a precious part of Israel; yet most Jews remain in the countries they grew up in. What does the old pledge mean now, in a world where Israel and the Diaspora exist side by side? Where do Jewish loyalties lie? Who, or what...
...President and Mrs. Nixon seem more interested in posing for pictures than in actually walking on the wall. The President finally calls a halt before another ascent. "We will not climb to the top today," he tells his host. "We are already meeting at the summit in Peking." Then he delivers a final homily. "As we look at this wall, we do not want walls of any kind between people...
...finished the poem, his right hand arched upwards into the smoky spotlight air in a mighty gesture of evangelism. Yet the cosmopoet was always stagebound, always in his political poems, judging the audience's response. A nervous sense of commercialism shackled his ascent. The sublime, that mostly mystical state of imaginative transport, eluded him and certainly his audience. And certainly one can not expect to find his highest excellence of art in the nuts and bolts of topical evanescence in the bump and bulk of rush-hour urgency...