Word: longingly
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1930-1939
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Without prior notice to any of his Congress leaders, Mr. Roosevelt suddenly produced from his magical hat the long-awaited Great White Rabbit of 1939. It was a revolving, self-liquidating rabbit and Mr. Roosevelt put its life at a maximum seven years, its first-year size at $870,000,000, ultimate size $3,860,000,000. Rather than rob WPA to pay PWA said he, let Congress empower the following agencies to lend (NOT spend) the following sums on the following projects, which would pay for themselves in the end, interest payments meantime causing the funds to revolve...
...these lovers' quarrels, the crazed sadism of Monk's accusations, or the deadly criticism that Mrs. Jack shoots back. Because she always comes back for more, however, because they make up from time to time and declare "Was there ever love like ours?" it is a long time before the final parting. Near the end Monk makes his bitterest accusation: "I've lost my squeal" -meaning his "wild goat-cry of pain and joy and ecstasy...
...preface, Thomas Wolfe declared this "the most objective novel that I have written," expressed hope that "the protagonist will illustrate in his own experience every one of us. . . ." Exhausted readers, dazed and deafened from their long buffeting, may seek in vain for Wolfe's "objectivity," for an identity...
Moved to adoration by scatterbrained, widowed Lavinia Brandon's charm were the vicar, his greensick pupil and his middle-aged churchwarden. That their adoration remained dumb was due to Lavinia's blissful inability to concentrate long enough to hear them out. Nevertheless they could try to protect her from each other, from Aunt Sissie's money, from a pesky lady folklorist home from Italy, and from the consequences of her own kind deeds. Only her two grown children appreciated how little protection Lavinia needed. In the end, when her witlessness and her ability to muddle through...
Twenty years ago Max Salop and two brothers, Morris and Abraham, were in the retail shoe business. Then Max went into second-hand books, started the Harlem Book Co. as a retail bookstore on Manhattan's 125th Street. When Depression hit, he waved ready cash under publishers' long faces, cornered the market in publishing's distress merchandise. Today he owns several bargain bookshops, a reprint house which publishes under half-a-dozen aliases. Not even Salop himself knows how many books he sells a year...