Word: litteral
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...spiritual principle (the Houyhnhnms) and repressing the animal aspect of his nature (the Yahoos). In any case, the horror and tragedy of Swift's old age are clearly foretold in the leading characteristic of the Yahoos: their excessive concern I with ordure. From that time forward, scatological allusions litter his prose and befoul his poetry. On the textual evidence, it would seem that his lifelong horror of women, his refusal of all sexual contact with them, was rooted in his horror of their excrement...
...L.B.J."), or a combination of both ("Tippecanoe and Tyler Too").* Other familiar standbys are paradox ("We have nothing to fear but fear itself"), metaphor ("Just the kiss of the hops"), metonymy ("The full dinner pail"), parody (a Norwegian travel folder promises "a Fjord in Your Future"), and punning ("Every litter bit helps"). By using what semanticists call "affective" language, many slogans deliberately exploit chauvinism ("Made in Texas by Texans"), xenophobia ("Yankee go home"), insecurity ("Even your best friends won't tell you"), narcissism ("Next to myself I like B.V.D. best"), escapism ("I dreamed I barged down the Nile...
...Force (1941-46), who, in an age of unpressurized cabins, managed to sell a skeptical War Department on airborne hospital planes, by the end of World War II had organized an air shuttle of 4,000 casualties a month across the Atlantic and brought the first litter-carrying helicopters to the front; of cancer; in Winter Park...
...important Ranger observation was the great number of small secondary craters that litter some parts of the moon. They seem to have fairly steep slopes that might topple any spacecraft that attempts to land on them. Dr. Kuiper thinks that regions splashed with rocks tossed out of big craters should be studiously avoided, but other parts of the lunar plains are probably smooth enough for landing. An encouraging sign is the comparative scarcity of small primary craters blasted by meteor impacts...
...height of Harlem's nighttime fury, a white police officer stood in the litter of glass and garbage that had come crashing down from the darkened rooftops and raised a bull horn to his mouth. "Go home," he pleaded with the glowering Negro mobs that clustered along Seventh Avenue and atop the shabby tenements. "Go home. Go home." From a man in the mob came a shout: "We are home, baby...