Word: feasting
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...missing-an adequate tribute to the fact that Hemingway's obsession with death came paired with a ravenous appetite for living. He savored the odor, the flavor, the texture of life like a condemned man eating his last meal. None of his contemporaries described life's "moveable feast" so lovingly. He took an elemental, purring pleasure in food, drink, sun, physical grace, all animals. He condensed life to pure sensuousness, and before he savaged it-and before it savaged him-he celebrated it as it has rarely been celebrated...
NORA shifted her eyes back and forth and no one spoke. Who is this girl? I asked myself. I wanted to look at her, feast upon her--but something scared me. This haunting face, the eyes, the silence in the room, the shadows, the fire, the quarry outside where men had plunged to unearned deaths, the black trees, the snow, the strange story that Tim was filming, these people who did not talk to each other...
...without a good wine. Would St. Paul, Calvin or Luther, he asks, have opened "bottles of Welch's Grape Juice in the sacristy before a service?" He dismisses synthetic foods as almost blasphemous and his gorge rises on the subject of dieting: "When you fast, fast; when you feast, feast." Neither prim nor prudish, he considers women, like pastries, a special delight: "A woman is like an aging strudel-not always crisp on the outside, but always good on the inside...
...them first at a Greek feast, which one of the students had organized for the last Saturday night of the fall trimester. A lamb was taken whole out of the fireplace (still a little bloody) and afterwards there was dancing or watching-dancing from the beams on which so many people had stretched out. Before I left Cambridge, I had been told, "If you speak with someone at Antioch for five minutes, it is assumed you will sleep with him." This had caused a moment of uneasiness about going to visit a cousin of mine there...
...laughter and, when he speaks, his dark eyes dance as though amused. Don Pepe, as friends call him, is not amused when he ponders the past and the future of his home, the Andalusian coastal village of Palomares. Last week, as he and his fellow villagers celebrated the feast day of their patron, St. Antony the Abbot, they also marked the third anniversary of the day when the bombs fell on Palomares...