Word: caressable
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...compassionate Miranda and John Ragin's gallant Ferdinand are highly affecting. Their first meeting is one of the most sublime in all theatre, surpassed only perhaps by that of Siegfried and Brunnehilde in Wagner's Ring. In the log-toting scene, it is a lovely touch to have Ferdinand caress a log in his arms as he ruminates over his beloved, and then have Miranda embrace the same log out of bashfulness during their ensuing duologue. (Another inspired bit comes at the end when Prospero gives Ariel his much-desired freedom: here the fingertips of the two almost touch, like...
...Sunday, he will stroll to the village pub (The Hoops) for a half-pint of bitter. More often of an afternoon, he will show a visitor about his property, explaining sculptured works in a soft, eager voice almost denuded of its Yorkshire burr, describing with a loving caress along a bronze flank why it takes two or three weeks of rubbing, gouging, sanding and polishing to finish a freshly cast figure: "It's the putting on of skin." In a corner of the studio is the figure whose making reminded him of the days he rubbed his mother...
...Hayes intimate. "The trouble was between Kim and Helen." Old Pro Hayes was sorely tried by the Method in Kim's acting. "I don't feel like being touched tonight," said Kim before one performance, and so a tender mother-and-daughter scene was played without a caress. Another time, Helen Hayes was quoted as saying, "I got two elbows down my throat from the girl...
...passion, from hectic gaiety to quiet sadness. Callas scored an even bigger triumph in Cherubini's Medea. Whirling her heavy cape alternately like a regal robe, a witch's hood or a pair of bat wings, Callas managed a breath-taking range of emotion: she seemed to caress the air when pleading tenderly with Jason, then railed at him with fists clenched and her voice full of relentless fury, again sank to her knees with heart-breaking bell tones of despair. She could rail against Zeus himself with the scorn of a rebellious goddess, then chilled the audience...
...writes Harold on a sheet of yellow paper, belongs to the night and together they conspire against Boston. They live illicitly, caress each other with streetlamps and shadows and juke box symphonies, the soft sob of loss, the subway shudder and the sigh. Night warms is black limbs by the gutter fires and furnace spit. We should bottle the night, prone and passive, siphon it into leather canteen flasks, take swigs of it while sunning ourselves by the river, savour it after a French loave-lunch, rub it on our arm in lieu of excrement...