Word: kissing
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...employee who "wouldn't givya a nickel" for the $70,000 Brancusi wood sculpture Caryatid, which he calls Mrs. Murphy's Bedpost. He calls a Jackson Pollack "that horror over there" and says it was hung on its side last month, but he likes Olitski's Ariosto's Kiss because the "painting seems to move." They visit the Persian Rug Room twice, but the rugs are on the wall, roped off. They get to the Oriental Room, where a grad student with a copy of the Tibetan Book of the Dead under his arm is looking strained...
Ordinarily we would try to fight the inevitable disaster by effecting social and political change. But you and I both know how hopeless that is. As we watch Procaccino gurgle to victory in November, we can kiss goodbye to the electorate. Then we can turn to the RYM, PL, the CP, the WSA, SDS, the P and FP, the BP, BDRG, and the Weathermen. And even if we pulled off a fantastic proletarian revolution right away and started reorganizing everything, it would be 50 years before they got around to air pollution. And the world will be long gone...
...primarily to back in creasingly more daring Howell. Until this summer no state-wide candidate in the Democratic Party had considered himself brave enough to publicly accept the endorsement of the Virginia AFL-CIO or the Negro Voters Crusade. Their backing had been seen previously as the vampire's kiss to any aspirant for public office. This summer, however, they were both prominent in the campaign...
Dripping with Muck. The play opens with Marlowe's gaudy word-painting about the pleasures of boys and other toys, and with a searching kiss on the mouth by which Edward welcomes his favorite, Gaveston. It ends with a death scene in which Marlowe dredges the most profound pity up from the most nightmarish sensationalism: the deposed king dragged from the castle cesspool, half mad and dripping with muck, washed and soothed and kissed by his murderer in the lingering tender dialogue with which a frightened lover is put to sleep. Then smothered with a feather blanket, crushed beneath...
That really pissed him off, though. How could she forget that she had a date with him on Friday? I mean, no girl could just outright forget a date! He had stood there on the porch, stuttering and awkward, and suddenly they had kissed-a lingering, deep, open-mouthed kiss, much more than the peck he had anticipated-and then he, breathless, had said. "See you next Friday, okay?" and she had said, "Yes," and he said, "I'll call you next week, we'll probably see a movie," and then he had run all the way back...