Word: faded
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...first birthday comes up. He is forgotten in cocktail conversation that dwells on new candidates. His presence does not pervade the Government. Events, of course, could resurrect him. Crisis could make him the man of the moment. But as soon as the tense times passed, he would fade again. Perhaps he can move back to center stage with travel and a series of talks on America's future. But even then, the old luster would be missing. He is a lame duck-or as Aesop would have it, a declining lion-and that condition is as inescapable...
...night, Saigon turns into a honeycomb of private prison cells, the result of a dreary curfew; people withdraw into their houses, or hovels, in nervous anticipation of the next attack. The lights often dim and fade out, air conditioners collapse with a rattling whisper, and the streets outside lie dark and silent. Hundreds of wealthy South Vietnamese have forsaken the city for the seaside resort of Vung Tau. The Japanese government has ordered all its citizens who are not indispensable to leave the country. Many American civilians have taken to spending their nights at the heavily guarded, although frequently rocketed...
...advance what its sanctions were. Yet even now, the Administration does not want to define the limits of protests and their consequences because it would rather rely on students memory than on tight rules that may backfire when students collect together out of strong feelings. Therefore, as memories fade, a new crisis may arise...
...present-day artistic vogues. Yet for Vlaminck, by virtue of his youth, temperament and training-or rather, lack of it-it was the right movement at the right time. He transmuted its gaudy splendors into rockhard canvases that can be looked at again and again without their seeming to fade or weaken. By the age of 30, he had attained heights he never regained in a long lifetime of painting. He also recorded, for later generations, the candor and gaiety of a placid era and countryside that were soon to be buried under the grimy onrush of history...
...that there are now 100 people in the office, but emotionally we resent them. As people dry out, the old and new become less easily differentiable, and I mourn the loss of my identity. I am trying for a field promotion in the movement so that I will not fade into the masses who jumped and might jump again...