Word: doves
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...died on the French Riviera in 1955, genial Paul Roux had no bank account and less than $100 in cash, but he was still able to leave behind a fortune. "This bouquet, this Colombe d'Or," he wrote to his son Francis, "I leave to you." The Golden Dove was his hotel-restaurant in tiny Saint-Paul-de-Vence-a restaurant like no other in the world...
...earliest days as the patron in the 1920s, Roux had found himself fascinated by the customers he got. They were an impassioned, talkative lot who came all the way from Paris to paint in the warm sunshine of Saint-Paul-de-Vence. Soutine took a room at the Golden Dove, and so did Braque, Bonnard, Léger and Utrillo. There was no end to the procession of great names who ate there. The artists seemed to like Roux, for they showered him with paintings, either as gifts or for a modest prix d'ami. As the years passed...
Running Bear (Johnny Preston; Mercury). There was an Indian brave named Running Bear who loved an Indian maid named Little White Dove but was separated from her by a raging river. He plunged in, and she plunged in, and "The raging river pulled them down/ Now they'll always be together/ In that happy huntin' ground." The arrangement lags and lurches, but it has carried Singer Preston into his own happy hunting ground on the pop charts...
...poodles (those feuding balletomanes, the Marquis de Cuevas and Choreographer Serge Li far) fought a duel with ostrich feathers to the music of Claire de Lune. Minerva the black panther (Callas) appeared in a red wig to music from Weber's Der Freischutz and devoured a chesty white dove (Tebaldi). Casarosa the old sheepdog (Rubi Rubirosa) pounced on two young things to Mendelssohn's Fingal's Cave Overture, fainted dead away while Ringmaster Max explained: "Casarosa isn't as young as he thinks he is.'' In a mad finale, the "God of the Press...
Down the Great West Road from London Airport, on 417 through Hounslow, Chiswick, Hammersmith and South Kensington, the dove-grey, open-top Rolls-Royce rolled into the heart of the great grey city. A small Stars and Stripes fluttered from the left fender; the license plate read "U.S.A. 1." From hundreds of thousands of Londoners thronging outside rows of semidetached brick houses, leaning out of town mansions, tumbling out of pubs, standing six deep in Hyde Park, the shouts went up: "Glad to see you, Ike," "Welcome," "Good for you, Ike." As the Rolls-Royce rolled into Grosvenor Square, from...