Word: cloven
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Flubdubs & Mollycoddles. Name calling is a time-honored sport among Americans where their Presidents are concerned. George Washington was called a crook and the "stepfather of his country." It was said of John Adams that "the cloven foot is in plain sight." Jefferson was berated as a mean-spirited hypocrite, Jackson as a murderer and adulterer, Lincoln as a baboon. With rare elegance, Teddy Roosevelt called Woodrow Wilson "a Byzantine logothete* backed by flubdubs and mollycoddles. " When the Depression laid Herbert Hoover low, newspapers were called "Hoover blankets," and a "Hoover flag" was an empty pocket turned inside...
...Holy Spirit, the supreme manifestation of which is glossolalia, or speaking in tongues. Dissatisfied with the institutionalized quality of Methodist worship and spirituality, Parham took as his inspiration the message of Acts 2: 1-4, which tells how, as the disciples assembled on Pentecost, "there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues." Hoping to receive the spirit, Parham and a group of students at Topeka's Bethel Bible College spent an entire day in prayer; finally, after hours of supplication...
...early church fathers would have examined Adman Ogilvy carefully for horns and a cloven hoof if they had heard his contemptuous put-down of patience, a paramount Christian virtue. St. Paul rated it a "fruit of the spirit" and St. Augustine called it "the companion of wisdom." Saints had it: the ultimate in provocation is proverbially "enough to try the patience of a saint." Sinners had it not: they complained and lamented. The Jews waited as patiently as they could for the Messiah and the Lord's Kingdom that would right all earthly wrongs. The Moslems told one another...
...NONEXISTENT KNIGHT & THE CLOVEN VISCOUNT (246 pp.)−Italo Calvino−Random House...
...medieval romances, knights grow nobler from suffering. The Cloven Viscount, Medardo of Terralba, grows worse. He is cut cleanly in two from head to crotch by a Turkish cannon ball, and one half of him is saved by doctors. This half returns home with a maniacal urge to slice everything else in two: flowers, mushrooms, small animals. "If only I could halve every whole thing like this," the viscount philosophizes, "so that everyone would escape from his obtuse and ignorant wholeness. Beauty and knowledge and justice only exists in what has been cut to shreds...