Word: breasts
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...people. And Robert Morse pulls it off perfectly; he writes poetry (They tell me, Francis Hinsley,/They tell me you were hung/With red protruding eyeballs/And black protruding tongue...) and does lots of things we've all--well, some of us have--been tempted to do, like kissing the breast of a piece of sculpture...
...Alas and woe!" the student cried, his books clutched to his breast...
...like a redneck in the custom made three-piece herringbone suit, in the custom-made white on white silk shirt with little diamonds, in the silk foulard and tie or side buckle shoes. Even less so when dressed for the street, another silk foulard peeping jauntily out of the breast pocket of his Chesterfield, his neck encased in a giant paisley muffler (silk!), and the unruly yellow thatch hidden behind a slouch hat imported from far-away France...
Full of wounds, all in the breast. I did what I could, grandfather. More than I could, just as you directed. Now that the battle is over, I come to recline at your side, to become dust at your side, that the two of us may await the Final Judgment together...Grandfather, hello...
Faust, as Goethe conceives him, is the image of Western man: man sundered, as Goethe was, by an intolerable antithesis of spirit and substance. Faust cries out: "Two beings ah! within my breast are fighting!" One clings to the earth, one "mightily thrusts upward to the sky." Salvation, for Goethe, lies in man's capacity to reconcile these opposites in creative activity. For creation, for a true birth, the feminine vessel is necessary as well as the masculine spark; but the problem of woman involves the problem of evil; and so Faust sells his soul to the Devil...