Word: idea
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...hundreds ran for shelter. Cracked a German onlooker: "Ah! These revolutionaries are not waterproof!" As a mass they resembled nothing bolder than a crowd at a railroad station waiting for a late train. They stood in idle little groups, talking over personal, non-political problems: "Emmie, have you no idea where I can get some new shoes...
...Heritage, a bimonthly, will start out in January with 5,000 copies and a cover painting (printed on linen) by the late Grant Wood. Its readers won't have to do much reading: the magazine will be nine-tenths pictures. It will also be adless (Malcolm's idea, reluctantly approved by B.C.). Forbes is counting heavily on its snob appeal-it is designed to look impressive on boardroom tables-but figures that many a businessman will want to buy it as a gift (with his name as donor on the inside cover) for his local library. "Heavy antique...
...they are inseparable, buzz in & out of each other's houses, often leave their wives twiddling their thumbs at the gin rummy table while they rush to the piano with an idea. Each considers the other, in Hollywoodese, a "great genius." Sammy likes to say that Jule writes "a warm tune" and "lets the melody go where it wants to go." But, says Jule: "I always give the pros a chance to use their voices, usually at the end so the public knows when to stand up and clap...
...publishers read Dublin-born Anne Crone's first novel and turned it down cold. Then an idea came to Miss Crone, 32, an Oxford graduate, and a teacher of languages in an Irish girls' school. She would send her manuscript to an old patron of Irish letters, Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, 18th Baron Dunsany. The Irish storyteller and playwright liked it so much that he volunteered to write an introduction, in which he calls Bridie Steen "one of the great novels of our time, not quite to be forgotten in a hundred years." With his handsome assist...
...which the reader can sense the hysteria of someone trying to re-establish communication with the world. In what is obviously a rigorous act of will rather than the product of a freely flowing imagination, Caldwell puts his characters through his standard novelistic paces without once indicating what motivating idea or feeling can possibly be behind them. The reader, no matter how patient, can never find out. Slobbering Sadist. This Very Earth runs its weary preordained course of rape, murder and stupidity without once arousing the slightest emotional response. The dialogue bears no living relationship to the character speaking...