Word: bonelessness
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...Forster, with "inspired breathlessness.") Unlike so many American critics who seem intent on smothering their readers with erudition, Virginia Woolf wrote as if she were conversing with friends. To read her essays at one sitting is too much of a good thing; they then seem a bit boneless and soft, their smoothness too consistently stylized. But taken one at a time, as they were written to be read, they are rare works of art, and establish one of the most pleasurable of human relationships: warm kinship between civilized writer and reader...
...almost unbroken row on noon-lighted bars, cocktail lounges, and saloons that provide the last refreshment to Boston wayfarers on the long, cold trip over the river to the Arlington wilderness. "And not only frappes," the aproned entrepreneur continued, vigorously chewing the remnants of a nondescript cheroot, "but boneless turkey, Saturday Reviews of Literature, razor blades shoe polish, and back editions of the Wake--all at the right price...
...tough blonde griping hoarsely into a tin can mounted on a pipe . . . and pretty little thrips who sing mischievously about adultery . . . while Ollie Twitch and his reefer boys are tearing the atmosphere to bleeding tatters from the platform and some agile mugger with greased hair is twining a boneless female around his neck and exhibiting an impersonal patch of leg meat, hers...
Gorky saw disciples flocking to tell the Master how pure they had become since following his teachings. To Gorky's mind they all had "boneless perspiring hands and lying eyes"; Tolstoy himself rose above them like a "noble belfry." Once when a disciple was discussing the state of his soul, Tolstoy "leant over and said to me in a low voice: 'He's lying, all the time, the rogue, but he does it to please me.' " The state of Tolstoy's own soul puzzled Gorky greatly. "I could never believe that he was an atheist...
...surrealists, who were more noisy than numerous, beauty was just the stuff that dreams are made of. Salvador Dali still led the somnambulating flock, with pictures brilliant, boneless and as bland as the fried eggs he claims to have seen while he was still in his mother's womb...