Word: figs
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Ruth says a fig for virtue! and Balaams to Queen Gertrude. Laud Joyce-Burge ate at Mendel's. Law the food they Pilon Rude. Happiness implies the perfect functioning of the soul, the Hundred Years' Decline and Fall of Burbank Gibbon's Holy Roman Empire, not an Empire, Holy nor yet Roman. Diminishing returns, the Tennyson, all Scop DeFoeman. Electra Dryden is the very Kittredge form of oathing upon the Tennis Court. The Double Standard Brann of Clothing is Washington down in the Poe, by Nausicaa. The Maid whose Tragedy emptor caveat a Single Tax on Trade. Plato McMasters Menckenese...
...because there is an organized society to make dishonesty unprofitable. But what is there to make national dishonesty--or aggression or whatever--unprofitable? Nothing that is evident to the eyes of the majority; therefore when, in the crisis of war, nationalism comes rampant to the fore, we say "A fig for rules...
...McLane is not bound, either by ignorance or inclination, to any one time or place or subject, and the best proof of this is in the excellent balance of his book. It contains one long poem, "Cassandra". a rather shorter one entitled "The Fig Tree", and many sonnets and miscellaneous poems of varying length. At the end of the volume is a sequence of poems some of which appeared in his previous work "Spindrift, forming an elegy...
...Fig Tree" Mr. McLane retells the famous story of Christ's anger from the Fig Tree's point of view, as it were. No interpretation can ever rob the legend of its unfairness and its pettiness, and those who accept it must do so with blinded or winking eyes. Mr. McLane is the first to reject it openly and convincingly, but of course the logical answer to his poem is that the legend from its very incompatibility is patently a lie, and reproach should be directed not against the victim but against the fabricators of it. As a piece...
...jumps in it her modesty may be dubious, but she is decent. But there can be no doubt of the immodesty of one who goes half naked. . . . If I understand your gliding scale of Modesty, the most petticoats dance in the shortest petticoats, and the purest of all in fig-leaves...