Word: dulled
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...therefore consider what is to be, for that must come, but what has been. This is the last week and how should it be spent. There are the Divisionals to remember, but surely that is a dull thought. If four years will not prepare you adequately, what will one week avail? And anyway, there are the long afternoons and the longer evenings in which to bind together the slender sheaves of thought and memory. The Vagabond has devised another way to pass the mornings for his seniors. In his good years here he has formed many friendships with the Professors...
Paris was the city of the world; Paris was the capital of France; Paris was a dull and dowdy city. The Sun King looked on the leprous walls and shuddered; he would build a new and sparkling place, a bright and spangled royal home. So he called to him Mansard and the world came to know of gabled roofs, and he called to him Colbert and France was stirred by her first fear of the Bourbonic plague. Versailles was piled high and the long hedges moved out around the fountains. Colbert shook his head and brought out great books...
...general feeling of the course is one of hodge-podge but how else can one consider the wealth of material that must be skimmed. The reading is a mosaic of short bits which fill in the ordinarily dull background of the lectures. The temporal scope of the material begins in colonial days with a certain amount of sentimental reading and a modicum of neat scholarly accounts. The course teaches the why and wherefor of some of the quirks of American intellects, after defining in ten sentences the constitution of an American. On the whole the work is entertaining...
...almost decide to call up the girl you met at the Somerset in December, when the world goes round, and birds sing, and girls laugh, and colors are bright, and the earth steams, and bands play, and life seems full and gay and ecstatic and you feel empty, and dull, and sodden, why then," he said, "It's Spring...
William Dean Howells was the first realist. Quite different from the trenchant, sensual realism of Heminway or D. H. Lawrence. For his was, as Emerson has suggested, the harvest of the quiet eye. His novels were dull with the dull ache of life, or they held the mild amusement which enters the life of everyman. Things seem to stagnate, as in "The Chance Acquaintance" or "The Silver Wedding Journey," or they advance slowly forward with the inevitability of passing years...