Word: brows
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...reader is meant to see the lifted eye brow and to smile. Then he is meant to see the sober truth of the statement be hind its mockery. Then the mockery be hind that sobriety and so on. What lies deeper, the mockery or the truth? It is a rare comic writer who can raise the question, and Kundera...
...Final Problem, Rosenberg argues, Holmes' description of Moriarty's academic achievements are thinly disguised parallels of Nietzsche's attainments. A later Conan Doyle criminal, Col. Sebastian Moran (see The Adventure of the Empty House), is given Nietzsche's physical characteristics (a high forehead, "the brow of a philosopher," and a huge grizzled mustache. With the vitality of a dog grinding a juicy bone, Rosenberg goes on to extract from the 60 Sherlock Holmes stories strong influences from Oscar Wilde, Catullus, Robert Browning, Racine, Poe, Mary Shelley, George Sand and even Jesus Christ...
...question remains whether tennis is really fit as a game to draw the raucous crowds of the big American arenas. Tennis's real lure seems to be on precisely that silent psychological level where an arched brow can be the crucial straw of dominance. In its best moments, tennis is like a difficult passage of music. If the audience is very quiet, it can hear the players thinking...
...radios were often shaped like cathedrals. Listeners gathered round them with a concentration that bordered on worship. (In accordance with the nostalgia revival, those Gothic appliances are being remade, but now they are composed of plastic and run on transistors.) Oldtime daytime broadcasts were principally devoted to the knitted brow and the purling organ of soap operas. Our Gal Sunday asked the question: "Can this girl from a mining town in the West find happiness as the wife of a wealthy and titled Englishman?" Answer: No-five afternoons a week. Backstage Wife followed the fortunes of an unassuming lady, Mary...
...askew. His third-day shirt has ring-around-the-collar. His thick, wavy clump of dark hair overhangs eyes screwed tight in a lopsided squint, a brow that is permanently furrowed and a leathery puss smudged with unshavable stubble. With stocky shoulders hunched forward at a 45° angle, he looks like an ambulatory cypress stump in baggy brown pants. And the raincoat. The raincoat is an oversized, unhung affair in the last stages of decomposition, scarred and seasoned with the grease of a thousand fingers, its hems frayed and stringy, its pockets attached more by habit than by thread...