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Word: hemlock (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...exhausted postwar world swallowed Spengler's gloomy brew as a confirming, almost a soothing draught. What matter if the drink were hemlock? At least the worst was known. The Decline of the West, despite its Germanic prolixities, sold more than 100,000 copies in the first eight years, mostly in Germany. Spengler was the talk of every campus...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Gotterdammerung Revisited | 5/25/1962 | See Source »

Wertenbaker (Henry Fonda) becomes a self-dramatizing romantic, and an intellectual hedonist with a somewhat arrogant presumption about accepting life or death on any but his own terms. Being an "artist at living" is his sole belief, and when he drinks the hemlock of approaching death, it must be like an "exquisite brandy." His, and the play's, point of view is that man is essentially a good animal, and when he sees himself becoming a bad, i.e. maimed, animal, he may admirably put an end to himself...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Theater: Death on Demand | 3/2/1962 | See Source »

...took a staff of 14 to keep up the house and 18 in the garden. The owner was John S. Phipps, whose father had made a fortune with Andrew Carnegie, and who had built for himself in Old Westbury, L.I., a regal private park for quiet ponds and hemlock hedges. Last week the "guests" were the paying kind who had come to see one of the most delightful art exhibits of the summer...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Art: Out in the Open | 7/25/1960 | See Source »

...canvas was done, Willem de Kooning, 56, the Grand Old Man of the New York School, dubbed it Christmas Tree, because it had been painted at that time of year. But Joan Mitchell remembered the dark and blue feeling of a Wallace Stevens poem that spoke of peacocks and hemlocks. "So I called it Hemlock, but everyone thought I meant poison...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: ART: The Vocal Girls | 5/2/1960 | See Source »

...cool green depths of Upper Michigan's 800,000-acre Hiawatha National Forest, amid the fragrance of sweet fern and venerable hemlock, U.S. Forest Ranger Edwin Youngblood, 38, eased his pickup truck along a sand-soft logging road one day last week. He sang out a warning to a gang of pulp cutters to take only the jack pine that rangers had paint-striped for cutting, told them to heave dead branches 50 feet back from the roadway, out of cigarette-throw range...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: U.S. National Forests: The Greatest Good of the Greatest Number | 7/20/1959 | See Source »

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