Word: forlornly
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When Cartoonist Robert Osborn left the Navy in 1946, he paid his respects to the military with a small book of cartoons entitled War Is No Damn Good! Across its pages strutted a wonderful, viciously funny parade of balloon-shaped generals and admirals, gorilla-faced noncoms and forlorn, tortured G.I.s. Last week Osborn finally paid his respects to civilian life with a book called Low & Inside (Farrar, Straus & Young; $3.75). If anything, the sequel is even deadlier and more acidly humorous than the original...
...MacArthur, or the political strategists, followed this plan in the late autumn of 1950, the tragic retreat from the Yalu . . . and three long, cold winters on the battle line might have been avoided. Instead, our actions ignored the military capabilities of the Chinese Communists, and were based upon a forlorn hope and false estimate of the enemy's intentions...
Rumor has it that Harvard's looking for a new president. May a one-time short-time student propose Ralph Bunche. I know it's a forlorn hope. He is the most qualified by far of all the rumored appointees, but he'd hardly do for dinner at the Union League Club or the Harvard Club, and some alumni in Skunk Hollow. Mississippi might not like him. And, after all, that's what counts...
...trilogy that should make his place in English literature secure. Each of the three novels, Herself Surprised, To Be a Pilgrim and The Horse's Mouth, is written in the first person; each, therefore, is written in a different style. The attempt sounds like a stunt or a forlorn hope; the extraordinary thing is that it was successful. Herself Surprised is Sara Monday, her book. Sara is Every woman (as much as or more than James Joyce's Molly Bloom) but very much herself as well: a maddeningly complaisant, maddeningly wise, maddeningly female creature. The second volume...
...move to suppress it for fear the delicate balance of the market will be upset. Calm and sanity finally return to the textile industry when the inventor's white suit of miracle cloth falls apart, leaving him standing in the street in shirttails and drawers, a ludicrous and forlorn figure...