Word: honeyed
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Colors. Stylists noted dark brown and wine red predominated, relieved by orange, royal blue, chartreuse, honey-beige, carnelian. Black and white is "in," as always...
...approached by avenues of cedars, and shaded with willows and live oaks and linden, were planted with white flowers-Cape jasmines, bridal wreath, white japonica, sweet alyssum and white althea. In the strange white radiance of Alabama moonlight white flowers-Cherokee roses, the night-blooming cereus, moon flowers and honey-suckle-were sweeter than at any other time. . . . "Yet, against all that tenderness of beauty, in spite of an apparent transcendent peace, the intense heat bred its intensity of emotion, a dangerous bitterness of conviction, hatred together with loyalty and a fatal pride. The deep South reacted deeply, darkly, from...
...Scout hatchet, drinking cups, sleeve less sweaters, knickerbockers, an oiled sheet (for a tent), a fox terrier (for luck). No man molested them - neither bandit, desperado, nor escaped Siberian convict. They lived on the land, eating black bread and water, berries, mushrooms, honey, milk. After five years in Russia (they were working on "educational-economics" at famed Kuzbas Colony, some 2,000 mi. east of Moscow when young Spring came to their feet) they returned to Manhattan bearing only a gift towel. They care absolutely nothing for property. Said Dr. Elsie Reed Mitchell: "Once when we slept in a natural...
...Narodno Kazalista peeked nervously through the curtain, and noticed that the theatre was half-filled with students from the Zagreb Technical College. There was nothing surprising in this, for on the stage of the Zagreb Narodna Kazalista, usually the home of grand opera and classic drama, that slick-haired, honey-colored Harlem Negress. Josephine Baker, was due to appear. What worried the manager was the lack of welcome in the mien of the young Croatian technicians. When la Backaire, as most of Europe calls her, started to dance, her nubile body girdled with a zone of ripe bananas, the manager...
Clive's mother, Monica Wilmott, with her golden hair twisted about her head "was like a falcon, a jar of honey, a spray of rosemary." Victorian at heart, she had, years before, rebelled against the fast vulgarity of the military set in India-but since her husband's death she had supported herself and her son: the office, the antique shop, the millinery establishment had made her something of a modern...