Word: esteli
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...first, the plot would seem to be thread-bare, even implausible in spots. Well, it is. And many of the speeches are dull and the minor characters poorly drawn. But Gladys George dominates the play like Louis XIV's sun. And like him, "la piece c'est...
...them in a new way. In a war of movement!" "Ah, mon vieux, comme vous etes naif!" said an old French general. "A war of movement across the dry Polish plains, oui! But through the Ardennes, through the Dutch floods, through the Belgian defenses, through the Maginot . . . c'est ridicule...
...allies." He added: "It's just another agony to fear what cannot be prevented or conquered." Nazi warplanes caught up with Miss Boothe in Brussels; she fled to Paris. It was Maytime. "Now at the Gare du Nord and the Gard de 1'Est, where the trains come in from the north, you could very clearly hear the sobs of the refugees. . . . They came off the trains with their bewildered faces, white faces, bloody faces, faces beaten out of human shape by the Niagaras of human tears that had flowed down them. The plain and tragic and innocent...
...Ages was regarded as the work of the devil. This discord is the augmented fourth (example: C and F sharp on the piano), was called the tritone because it spans three whole tones. The tritone was banned in sacred music, thus giving rise to a maxim: Mi contra fa est diabolus in musica (The tritone is the devil in music). When the sirens, beginning on a sweet major third or fifth, slip up and down into the bloodcurdling tritone, it sounds that way to Londoners...
...French critic, asked who was really France's greatest poet, answered: "Helas! C'est Victor Hugo." Mr. Shanks sadly admits that no recent English critic would have thought of including Rudyard Kipling among England's great, even tagged with an "Alas!" Mr. Shanks says briskly that this is a lot of nonsense: Kipling was not merely a great writer but a great political thinker, and got better & better as he went along. Less a critic than a partisan, Mr. Shanks thus arouses, in his own fainter way, echoes of the same violent feelings that Kipling himself once...