Word: delights
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1960-1969
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Updike has neither Nash's bewildered air of good sense wrapped in metrical nonsense nor Bishop's malicious delight in destroying his targets in a single, whiplashing line. His tone is more urbane and more lyrical, a bit reminiscent of Britain's John Betjeman. A name, a scrap of a news item, a thought from a book is enough to set his graceful mages turning and his lines moving to impeccable rhythms. A sentence by New York Times Book Reviewer Orville Prescott praising two novels for being 'neither overly ambitious nor overly ong" prompts...
Here's Love is a delight in every way. Meredith Willson has given us another gem, chock-full of all the gaiety, excellent performances, good dancing, music, etc. needed to guarantee theatergoers a perfect afternoon or evening of the finest entertainment...
...years ahead of time if he had lived to carry them out, far outstripped his poetic practice. But they provide a fascinating commentary on the elegant debate that he carried on with himself in poem after poem. It grew from his short life's continual conflict between delight in the rich, romantic dream worlds that he was so skilled at creating, and the pull of complex humanity, which he saw but understood art could never fully trap. In his most famous Ode (to a Nightingale), the voice of the bird has touched the hearts of many men and united...
...awaited so fondly as Judy Garland, but The Judy Garland Show (CBS) is an awesome disappointment. Her voice is a scraping vestige of itself, and her producers have made her seem an interloper on her own set. More happily, The Danny Kaye Show (also CBS) has been a thorough delight and need only be maintained. There is no thematic thread-just Danny Kaye, pronouncing Los Angeles in approximate Castilian ("Loth Antheleth") or changing My Fair Lady lyrics into baseball songs like Why Can't a Woman Be More Like...
...last word uttered by Sidonie Gabrielle Colette on her deathbed in Paris in 1954 was "regarde." To her, it meant to look, feel, wonder, accept, live. For all her 81 years she obeyed that injunction with an immense, daylight sense of reality and a pagan delight in the sensuous experiences that delivered the world to her mind and to the blue note paper on which she recorded it. The Blue Lantern, written between 1946 and 1948 and now translated into English for the first time, is Colette's last major work-a moving but unsentimental record...