Word: bellowings
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...America. We paused, and asked him what he thought it was. "There is a vigor of thought at the highest levels in this country," he began. "Intellectually, at your best, you're thriving, you're much more alive than England. Your writers--men like Trilling, Edmund Wilson, Kazin, Saul Bellow, Malamud--are terribly exciting. Even the non-professional people: look at how trenchant and vigorous a book a woman like Jane Jacobs can produce...
Gypsy. "Hold yer hats an "hallelujah!" the burlescuties used to bellow, "Momma's gonna show it to ya!'' Momma in the present instance is Rosalind Russell, and at 55 all she's showing is talent-but hallelujah! The old girl rips, roars, romps, rampages and rollicks through this raucous musical like Woody the Woodpecker's wife...
...city rocked instead to a deafening cacophony. East German loudspeakers responded with Communist marching songs. The klaxonfest might have gone on for hours but for the arrival of a carrot-topped youth clutching an eight-foot crucifix inscribed in white letters: Wir Klagen An [We Accuse]. With a bellow that brought half a dozen other young Berliners to his side, the lad, a 20-year-old factory worker named Dieter Bielig, raced to the Wall and brandished the cross at the fuming Grenzpolizei (border police). The West Berlin crowd, held back by police, roared its delight and showered rocks...
...shouted battlefield orders in a bellow that rattled the Halls of Montezuma. He stalked about under enemy fire as though he were daring anyone to hit him. He had an abiding love for the enlisted man who did the killing and the dying, and a sneering hatred for the staff officer who did the sitting and the meddling. He thrived on combat until he became a legend to his troops-the toughest fighting man in the whole United States Marines. His name was Lewis Burwell ("Chesty") Puller, and when he was retired in 1955 as a lieutenant general...
...equivocation; certainly he was the most American poet. From its publication in 1855, Leaves of Grass has been acknowledged by convert or critic as signaling something new and distinctively American. It has been an emancipation proclamation for later generations of U.S. writers as apparently diverse as Thomas Wolfe, Saul Bellow, Henry Miller, James Agee and Jack Kerouac-and for writers anywhere who have felt inhibited by form and classic restraint. Whitman tapped a gusher, and no one reading the letters can doubt that he knew just what he was doing. To a correspondent he gleefully quoted a derisive squib from...