Word: hewn
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...grasped at by music lovers as a reason for liking Sibelius. Yet if one would arrive at a comprehensive appreciation of his music, it is impossible to take the remark seriously. True, in the symphonies and tone-poems, there are passages of a woodwind complexion, of a curious rough-hewn quality, which have been traditionally seized on as the hall-mark of Sibelius's idiom. But the great moments in his great works are not this "incarnation of the fjords of Finland." The great works breathe a richness and a warmth such as cold water never did or could have...
...every crossroad the American faces went by, rough-hewn and downy, seamed and corn-silk-smooth; gimlet-eyes, cross-eyes, big blue eyes, dim eyes; mouths wagging, lips smiling. When the train stopped, Mr. Farley said a few words, shook hands with those he could reach: hands bony, calloused, porky, damp, brown, white, black. And the train went on, past the blur of citizens in overalls, store suits, tailormades, in housedresses, straw hats with beaucatcher ribbons...
...vacation, Buzz auctioned 1,000-oddhead of cattle, shipped in from ranges in seven neighboring States, to "feeders" who prime the beef over the winter for choosy eastern markets. "Boy, oh boy, oh boy, lookut that pretty li'l heifer," Buzz urged grizzled buyers in his rough-hewn auction pit, "right offa the juicy meadas. Wottami bid, wottami bid for this pretty li'l heifer? Who'll start it 25, 25, 25. . . ." They bid up to $97 a head; Buzz got $57,000 for the lot; the folks headed home-men, women and children-tired but tickled...
Above the reception room mantel was a stone-hewn hammer & sickle and a portrait of Dictator Stalin. Drinking champagne, but not touching the bountiful caviar and vodka, Mr. Chamberlain stood below a portrait of Soviet Foreign Commissar Maxim Maximovich Litvinoff all evening, talked with Comrade Maisky for a half hour, departed at n p.m., whereupon the orchestra began to swing...
...behind, isolated on a flood-girdled island. He was wet and weary and he thought rather apprehensively of the rising waters all around, but the beer was good and, by God, this was adventure of a sort. Out of another day was this dingy room, with its hideously-hewn, dirty-mirrored bar, its splintery floor, its dirty walls plastered with reward notices of rogues, new ond old. On these same walls wee now cavorting much more fearsome bogies, phantasmagoric giants projected by the few candles guttering in the necks of empty liquor bottles. And there was the hero...