Word: lifelessly
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Getting Married seems to justify all the cliche derogations with which Shaw's detractors have made themselves so tiresome. The characters are hypothetical examples, points of view, types, or paradoxes, perfunctorily humanized: dry and lifeless talking automatons. And how they do talk! They do not even pause for a plot; there is nothing but bickering and quibbling and squabbling and beating around the bush all night...
Head & Heart. It would have taken all his patience to follow his changing fortunes after death. While Delacroix hailed him as "one of the hardiest innovators in the history of painting," others denounced his classicism as cold, almost lifeless. But in an age of facile painters who were more interested in mannered effects than content, he restored discipline and purity to art. "From the hand of the painter," he said, "must come no line not previously formed in the mind." It was a lesson for which everyone from Ingres to Cezanne was to express gratitude...
...surmounted by Communism's red stars. Panting and perspiring, the pallbearers deposited the coffin on the mound of freshly dug yellowish earth beside the open grave, within sight of the blue onion domes of the Orthodox Church of the Transfiguration. Several weeping women bent over to kiss the lifeless countenance. It was time for the funeral oration...
...some splayfooted giant's footprint, this enormous sinkhole in the desert west of Cairo begins with a heel 35 miles south of the Mediterranean shore and then runs southward into the desert for some 185 miles. Covered with rock salt and slimy quicksand, Qattara is as desolate and lifeless as anything this side of the moon. Only generals have ever placed any value on one of nature's worst mistakes. In World War II Montgomery bunched his forces at El Alamein in the neck of land between the Mediterranean and the nearly 1,000 ft. drop...
Nothing in Reading for Fun is lifeless, though some of Berenson's entries are highly esoteric, and his scorn of modern literature very nearly amounts to a total eclipse of what was around him. He thought the works of T. S. Eliot, Joyce, Gertrude Stein, Faulkner and Hemingway largely rubbish. But even Aladdin had only one lamp, and Bernard Berenson had burnished his insights too long over the magnificence of Renaissance Italy to find the modern age other than trifling and tawdry. At book's end he seems to step back into a quattrocento painting like a visitor...