Word: dying
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...last week's race. Worried about Al, plagued by a broken transmission that forced him to stay in high gear and therefore cost him seconds accelerating away from each pit stop, Bobby nonetheless drove the race of his life. "I was out there to root hog or die," he said afterward. "I took chances I'd never take ordinarily." When the times were announced, Unser had set a new Indy record by averaging 152.8 m.p.h. His $177,523 winner's purse was the biggest in 500 history, and by scoring his fourth straight victory...
...during an unreasonable delay between arrest and arraignment. Such attacks on the court are not yet assured, however. The bill must now go to a Senate-House conference committee chaired by New York Representative Emanuel Celler, and Celler last week insisted that he would rather see the whole bill die than let the anti-court amendments survive...
...comes the killing. While artillery shells resound overhead, the men-now called "The Devil's Brigade" by fearful Germans-begin their assault on a steep mountain in Italy, the peak of which is enemy territory. There is room at the top, but along the way many good devils die, and Holden comes to realize the cost of his merciless goading. As a mainstream tough-and-rumble military movie, The Devil's Brigade-which is based on actual events-offers few new sights or insights. After nearly three decades of World War II films, it is hardly surprising that...
...despair. Framed in a set of huge bronze cubes appear the archetypal woman as mother, wife and slut and the arche typal man as son, father, husband and lover. They are not there to be joined to gether but to be rent asunder. "We must love one another or die," wrote W. H. Auden. Fire! proclaims that love is dead, God is dead, and man is dying. The playwright is a onetime actor now living in Europe who has adopted the pseudonym John Roc; he is a demi-Beckett who does not await Godot but screams at the heavens precisely...
...combination of Bernard Geis's gamy publishing imprint and a hero who copulates to excess (in fact, he suspects that he may die of it) should summon from every throat the cry of ecch. But softly, softly. R. V. Cassill, author of The President, is one of those happy few novelists who see sex as a vehicle rather than a destination and have the wit to take off something more than the heroine's clothes. Rodney Buckthorne is that ever popular fantasy figure, the artist in goat's clothing, who prances irresistibly through several marriages...