Word: doorknob
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...most clucking literati have chosen to ignore: that in the last years of his life this pintpot Pan with the archangelic voice may have done as much for poetry by reciting it as he did by writing it. He was a grubby little man with a beery bulge, a doorknob nose and puppy-dog eyes, but he was visited by grace. His words, his voice kindled fires where no fires were. He renewed the ancient truth that poems are significant not as acrostics but as celebrations. He celebrated always the fundamental experiences: birth, copulation and death. And in his greatest...
...while thinking bad, often terrible, words to fortify my strange and peculiar thoughts. Trying to be casual, I would then light a match, which is normal procedure before my daily conversation with God. After completing the quiz, I would leave the room (carefully using my new handkerchief on the doorknob) and hurry home to repair the door latch...
...bald, corpulent, obtuse paper shufflers. Their opponents are ardent provincial youths who scoff at party propaganda and joke about the Virgin Lands program-but who eagerly take direct action, in the old "Hero of Labor" tradition, to build themselves a new school. Just as they are fitting the final doorknob, word comes that the party plans to take over the new building to house a chemical-research institute. The youths protest, but the party district leader is a petty Stalin, and from his decision there is no appeal. Or rather, Author Solzhenitsyn implies, from this kind of implacable obstructionism there...
Outside the Johnson bedroom door, the President struggled with the doorknob. "Mrs. Johnson's locked the bedroom on me," he said. When he knocked, the door was finally opened by a ruffled Lady Bird, who had obviously just finished tidying up. Outdoors again, the President pointed out his 400-acre spread, recalled what Sam Rayburn had said when he first came calling: "I thought it was a big ranch, and it's just a little old farm." He passed out ashtrays bearing his signature: "They only cost a few cents, so they come under the Paul Douglas rule...
Denizens of new office buildings have not only grown accustomed to the loneliness of the operatorless elevator, they have also developed a conditioned reflex. They instinctively slap any metal object-typewriter, watercooler, doorknob-with the flat of the hand before using. Otherwise, little blue sparks fly from fingertips and a nasty, if harmless, jolt runs up the arm. In fact, even the most cautious palm-slapper sometimes yields a small tingle...