Word: grass
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Kahn, a visiting New York schoolteacher clad only in a black strapless bra and black panties, from head to toe with flour, crushed ripe tomatoes, beer, raw egg, brightly colored powdered paints, cornflakes, half-chewed raw carrot, bits of melon and melon seed, milk, and tufts of moss and grass. Concluded the critic for the London Times, trying very hard to be broad-minded about it all: "The visual arts today are a kind of brothel of the intellect, and nobody can write a report on a brothel while primly standing outside the door. The idea that he knows precisely...
...discuss theology, with the groups alternating in choosing the topics. Catholic parent-teacher groups in San Francisco have switched discussions from such themes as "Patron Saint of the Month" to "Communication with Non-Catholic Brothers." And the National Councils of Catholic Men and Women are distributing 20,000 "Grass Roots Ecumenism Kits," which contain six booklets on such topics as Jewish-Christian dialogues...
...variegated nosegay of American letters, the Deep South's poetry of decadence stinks like a long-since-wilted magnolia, but Author Wilkinson magically refreshes its fragrance with images new as dew: "A green snake weaved around the rocks, rolling like a liquid in hot glass until the grass pulled it in and it disappeared." Language like that explains why the late Randall Jarrell described Miss Wilkinson as "the most talented writer of prose I ever taught...
Kesselring himself could hardly have prevailed against a populace so shifty that when a man quarrels with his neighbor he adds injury to insult by letting his donkey eat the neighbor's grass. In the belly-busting climax of this humoric epic, the Germans ignominiously wrest defeat from the jaws of victory, and the villagers preserve their vino for the postwar American market. Crichton tells his story with grace, pace, warmth and a wonderful free-reeling wit that skips among the vineyards like an inebriated billygoat. The book should make a dandy movie...
...know," said one of the boys with calm and deliberate hostility, "that you are a roaring, screaming, flying asshole." He repeated the declaration several times, but got no response. The marcher sat quietly, slowly running his hand over the smooth grass...