Word: fainted
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...coffee cup. “It’s a caustic,” he said, peering into it. “A what?” I said. “It kind of looks like a butt,” he told me.He was pointing to a faint pattern on the surface of the coffee—a double curve where light hit the liquid.“Has that always been there?” I said. How had I missed it? I was a writer. I was supposed to notice things...
...transcendental nature is flat and incompatible with the greater story, while Benjy’s presence is one that illuminates religious allegory. Even the poetic prose of his section lends Termite an elevating sense of omniscience. “He sits by the window and hears the faint roots of the grass in the berm of the alley, long veiny threads that reach deep in the ground to drink where no one sees.” These elements fail to indicate any deeper, more enlightening reading of the story, and since they are not sufficiently integrated into the plot, they...
...people’s lives in fictionalized written and videotaped media,” Bethel said, “the fabric of their reality became something fictive, subject to the rules of analysis we apply to a novel or a film.”Further into the gallery, faint whiffs of apple emanated from a crate filled with decaying red apples punctured with nails. Xinran Yuan ’10, also a Crimson photo editor, calls her sculpture from her VES 30 class the more literal interpretation of peer pressure and self-realization. “I was dealing with...
...reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of short-cuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted - for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk takers, the doers, the makers of things - some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom...
...expression of life, even if the living object has long since departed-the print of a heron on the sand, the feeling that a crow flew by, the sea shells lined up in an empty room on a woman's whim. Millions are touched by these intimations, faint but intense; they are touched in their sense of mortality, and they count Andrew Wyeth an incomparable painter...