Word: hell
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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However. More men. The hell of it is it's encounters with men like these that make me think of the march tonight, the clenched fist, being a Radcliffe student at Harvard University. Better if I talked to the tired woman waiting with closed eyes for this morning's F train to Brooklyn. Better if I talked to myself; I understand, but my head does not. (Who taught my mother to iron so well?) Whoever it was, they're more sophisticated now: my little sister isn't told don't be too smart, you'll scare the boys away...
...Hell knows no fury like a woman scorned." Man, you are paying for your immature notion that you prove manhood by sexual exploitation [Aug. 31]. You failed to understand woman's need for love, protection and companionship. The sexually liberated office girl or career woman mistook your lust for love and turned on you when she realized her mistake...
What do you do when you find your daughter huddled in the back of her bedroom closet, taking a troublesome trip on LSD? Or shacked up in the East Village with a Hell's Angels cokehead? Well, if you believe Eli Wallach and Julie Harris in The People Next Door, you blame older brother. You get mad at little sister. You get mad at the neighbors and at each other. And all the time you yell, yell, yell. In every way, The People Next Door is an anachronism, a "naturalistic" play like those prevalent in the 1950s...
...that terse flair that never seems to desert him. "Venezuela is my heaven." Two books are written attacking Papillon. One claims the author was not really much of a safecracker after all. The other suggests that his book is full of errors. "I didn't go into that hell with a typewriter," snaps Papillon. Then he is off for America, where this week his book is being published with some fanfare...
...where a purely feudal society had precariously survived the advent of the welfare state. Utterly interlaced through confinement and bloodlines, the islanders were leading lives somehow larger than life, gossiping about each other ("When Donald Garvard's got a bucket in him, he can be a pest of hell"), struggling to make a living from the land and the edges of the sea, engulfed in a romantic sense of the past that curls over and around the island like a North Sea fog. McPhee settled down in a cottage sublet from a crofter named Donald Gibbie to watch...