Word: hating
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Although he spent only one day at the University, it "was enough for me to feel some sense of Harvard," he said. He has learned "to hate Yale, to like Adlai Stevenson and the Democrats, to hate the Lampoon and to like the CRIMSON--I learn very quickly...
...made provisions from such backward entities as South Carolina," he cried. "Why is it that you are so poverty-stricken?" And time and again he warned his colleagues of the ultimate perils of segregation: "It may be some can chloroform their conscience. But if we fear long enough,, we hate, and if we hate long enough, we fight...
...correspondent strolled with Madame Lacoste through the gardens of Algiers' Palais d'Eté, rich with the strong colors and heavy scents of the North African spring. Enthused the correspondent: "Isn't this a wonderful place?" Madame Lacoste looked at him oddly, spat out: "I hate it, I hate it. My husband is a Socialist who spent all his life trying to help people. Now he is here killing people." Madame Lacoste burst into tears. For the French it was a tormented spring...
...brace of local disasters had shown that the sahibs were not invincible. Also the Feringis (Europeans) were bigoted enough to abolish suttee. The rumor spread among Moslems and Hindus that the British were trying to make Christians of them. The greased cartridges hit a bull's-eye of hate, and at Meerut 85 sepoys refused duty. After a suitable court-martial, the older mutineers were shackled on parade to be carted off to the Andaman Islands, 600 miles off the Indian coast. Their comrades revolted, killed all the officers and wives they could find, unshackled the sepoys...
...Manhattan last week, with her weedy dark hair hanging to her waist, she chanted in French the bittersweet songs that have made her famous at home. Her large, square hands shaped the phrases; her high-cheekbonsd, chalky face was alternately sullen and sad. In her best song, I Hate Sundays ("Every day of the week is empty and hollow, but there's worse than the weekday, there's pretentious Sunday"), her voice faded to an organ whisper. Even in the gayer songs, delivered in a gutty shout, she seemed to be drowning out the memory of something...