Word: flattering
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...second in part from the in which I was not no much mis-as over-quoted. My intention was to flatter my students not to them. I am sure that I said something to the effect that I was amazed at the sophistication in social theory of my incoming students. I most certainly did not say they were fantastically sophisticated, nor did I say that this applied to all aspects of social theory and method. Most of them are quite good on social theory, know a bit about methodology, and nothing about method. The point of this, however...
...been off his chow too-with blisters and a bad case of jitters. But U.S. Captain Vic Seixas figured that the porous clay courts at Cleveland's new, $75,000 tennis stadium would help the Americans; Aussies are used to grass, on which the ball tends to bounce flatter and faster. The theory looked good when McKinley beat Stolle 6-1, 9-7, 4-6, 6-2. But then Emerson climbed all over Ralston in straight sets...
...living, in the 1840s, Daubigny worked for travel books and magazines, doing graphics of a candidness that showed his immediate vision of nature. The more dependent his landscapes became on fleeting optical visions, the flatter they grew, as if no matter how far away an object was, it registered equally on his retina. In the eight years between Morning on the Oise and Field in June, Daubigny traded the traditional depth of his predecessors for the surface impact of red poppies. Eventually, even such panoramas were replaced by the narrower vision that the eye can encompass without moving...
...Madison Ave. at 69th. An art teacher at the School of Visual Arts shows his versatility in pieces sculpted in bronze, fiber glass and concrete, and in paintings done in oil on canvas and on Masonite. His cast females are pathetically pudgy, his painted figures equally grotesque. "I flatter people verbally, not pictorially," says Kearns. But a fine sense of balance and depth wraps them in redeeming grace. Through April...
...indoor London setting of Terence Rattigan's story about an American girl and a Carpathian prince. With a big straw hat over her blonde hair, her clothing a rag sonata of browns and purples, her feet, encased in high button shoes, kicking up to show legs that would flatter a Tottenham Court soccer player, she belts out a medley of Noel Coward cockney songs-London Is a Little Bit of All Right, Saturday Night at the Rose and Crown-that ring all the bells of Shoreditch...