Word: lovely
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...theirs. He was thus startled in 1959 to hear from author Josephine Herbst that she had been saving his mail. "Yesterday's roses," he wrote back, playfully dismissing her collection of his work, "yesterday's kisses, yesteryear's snows." Cheever's unselfconscious approach allowed his imagination and love of language free play. The supposedly ephemeral results of this process were, paradoxically, often memorable. Here is a 1946 description of his surroundings during a vacation in New Hampshire: "The pastures are stony, the mountains are leonine, the natives are taciturn and venal, the sunsets are red, and in the early evenings...
...million copies a day to 3.2 million for Maxwell's Daily Mirror. "What Murdoch has achieved is stupendous," concedes Maxwell, but he jabs at his foe for becoming a U.S. citizen so he could acquire American TV stations. "I chose Britain for better or for ill," says Maxwell. "I love the British. They kept Hitler...
Whether the Brits love Maxwell back is debatable, but certainly a favorite English sport is watching the "bouncing Czech." The business community is both appalled by Maxwell's publicity-mad megalomania and envious of his fiscal ingenuity. Just about everybody is curious about him. Moments after being introduced to Maxwell, Prince Charles turned to one of the publisher's staffers and asked, "But what is he like to work...
Henry Lightcap, hero of the present novel, is a freestyle philosopher and romantic crank, madly in love with the West as it used to be and waitresses and barmaids as some of them still are. He shares Abbey's employment history, his age more or less (late middle), his marrying habit (Abbey's present wife is his fifth) and his sour gallantry. His position on beer-can tossing is the master's: the highway is an abomination, and thus the litter that sullies it is a blow for truth and beauty...
...Government too was brain-dead for the moment. There was the sense of a beast in convulsion at Parkland. Police rushed here and there. Vehicles circled, darted. A small coterie with Vice President Lyndon Johnson . . . No, try it again. A small coterie with President Lyndon Johnson dashed for Love Field and Air Force One. A piece of lead weighing less than an ounce had blown away a single mind, and history had been halted in its tracks, pushed back a generation, then hesitantly restarted, but in a different direction...