Word: inhabitant
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...time, no doubt, all the rest of the non-Soviet world's 40-50 million people now living under some kind of colonial administration will also join the parade, even though they mostly inhabit hundreds of tiny islands and enclaves that have few of the ethnic and economic prerequisites for nationhood. If the 100 million non-Russian residents of the Soviet Union could have their way, such new nations as Azerbaijan and Yakutia would also be independently seated...
...LOWER DEPTHS. In a crude beam-and-burlap basement, a group of humanity's dregs inhabit a no-exit hell of thoughtlessness, meanness and cruelty for each other, until a stranger for a while tries to set their lives in motion again and soothes them with the balm of understanding...
Pinter's play concerns people who run from life (I'm quite happy where I am....We're not bothered. And nobody bothers us.") and the hells they inhabit ("There's not much light in this place is there, Mrs. Hudd?). Pinter creates his multi-levelled allegory by carefully planning tone and symbol; for example, the impression of utter darkness underlies a banal quarrel about whether there were indeed stars in the sky. Obviously such a play de-instance, their laughter must be nervous as well as amused...
...used to the thin air before taking a cocktail or attempting anything so athletic as trotting upstairs. At the airport, 1,400 ft. above the city, no jets come in; Panagra's prop pilots sometimes take a whiff of oxygen during stopovers. Yet 4,000,000 people inhabit Bolivia; 75% are on the altiplano (high plain), a vast, barren Andean plateau averaging 12,000 ft. in altitude. Of the 75%, a few tin miners produce the nation's major export; the rest, mostly Quechua and Aymara Indians who cannot even speak Spanish, spend brief lives struggling to scratch...
Wallant's people are the walking wounded and unofficial dead of the affluent society. They inhabit what is known in officialese as "substandard housing," but they are figures in a land scape of hell. Wallant writes with lyrical affection of falling plaster, the colors of linoleum, the awful caprice of electrical fixtures, and the ebb and flow of cruel plumbing. He sniffs the eternal odors of poverty, sin and despair on stairway, landing and daybed. The flaking walls about his creatures are a barometer of the damp weather in the soul. His theme is the pursuit of grace among...