Word: confessed
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...from the raging romantic, Melville's Starbuck was a prudent husband of sober Christian morals. He was the one mariner not afraid to confess his fear of whales, a problematic phobia on a whaling expedition. At the end of the book (sorry to give away those suspenseful 300 last pages), when the ship's captain ruthlessly pursues omnipotent Moby Dick, Starbuck contemplates mutiny. But, his respect for authority outweighs Starbuck's determination to return alive to wife and kids. He puts back the knife and ultimately drowns with the rest of the crew, while chasing the whale. Not quite...
John Singer Sargent (1856-1925) was the last great society portraitist--the Van Dyck of his time, as Auguste Rodin was the first to say. Twenty years ago, to confess an admiration (however sneaking) for his work was to invite incredulity. Sargent? That flatterer of the Edwardian rich? That fat-cat holdover, that facile topographer of the social Alps, that living irrelevance to the concerns of modernism? But what goes around comes around. Sargent's reputation is back as though it had never gone away. Once again, if one can judge from the attendance at the Sargent show...
Lest I diverge from the virtuous nature of Euro-Quad life, I now call your attention to the fact that our residents are , on the whole, better looking. I must confess that I have a vested interest in this assertion, but I do believe that it's true. Perhaps our good looks are a benefit derived from all the exercise of walking and/or cycling. The bicycle, by the way, is not only a popular mode of transport but a veritable sport in these parts (Tour de Quad?). On the other hand, maybe our mysterious physical and intellectual appeal results from...
...this incident proved something I have known for a while, but had not forced myself to admit. As I, along with the rest of '02, prepare for the imminent plunge into the murky waters of blocking, I need to confess my one secret to my roommates: You're living with an eight-year-old. Banish me from the R-rated bathroom conversations. Stop using bananas as lecture aids. I am just not old enough to hear about that. Any aging processes, any internal maturation, any sign of leaving my Punky Brewster days behind--it's all null and void...
...this incident proved something I have known for a while, but had not forced myself to admit. As I, along with the rest of '02, prepare for the imminent plunge into the murky waters of blocking, I need to confess my one secret to my roommates: You're living with an eight-year-old. Banish me from the R-rated bathroom conversations. Stop using bananas as lecture aids. I am just not old enough to hear about that. Any aging processes, any internal maturation, any sign of leaving my Punky Brewster days behind--it's all null and void...