Word: magnolia
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...with the sinister sweetness of a chocolate-covered cobra, and Dean Martin demonstrates impressively that he can act. But something is terribly wrong with this picture. It is cold, mechanical, dead. The central situation is contrived, and the characters are about as sincerely Southern as a bouquet of nylon magnolia blossoms. Playwright Hellman left New Orleans when she was still a child, and time has strewn cobwebs on the toys in her attic...
...Macaroni, the ponies, graze contentedly on the lush grass. Caroline's Welsh terrier, Charlie, skitters happily around the place, and in nice weather lives in a house under the magnolia tree that Andy Jackson planted near the back door. Pushinka, a pooch who came as a present from Nikita Khrushchev, has had a hard time of it: he had a nervous breakdown, was shipped off to Walter Reed Hospital for treatment, but is back now. and is apparently hale and hearty...
...writing this letter from the drunk tank of the county jail in Magnolia, Mississippi. Twelve of use are here, sprawled out along the concrete bunker. Curtis Hayes, Hollis Watkins, Ike Lewis, and Robert Talbert, four veterans of the bunker, are sitting up talking--mostly about girls. (Charles) McDew...is curled into the concrete and the wall; Harold Robinson, Stephen Ashley, James Wells, Lee Chester Vick, Leetus Eubanks, and Ivery Diggs lay cramped on the cold bunker; I'm sitting with smuggled pen and paper, thinking a little, writing a little; Myrits Bennett and Janie Campbell are across the way wedded...
...fabulist of magnolia and metropolis transplanted from New Orleans to New York and now nurturing his rarefied sensitivities "way high up on a splendid Alp in Switzerland," Truman (Breakfast at Tiffany's) Capote, 37, came down from the mountain with a personal Baedeker for a British newsman. "Venice," he began, "is like eating an entire box of chocolate liqueurs in one go. Too, too rich. London is delicious, soggy steak and kidney pie. If I stay here too long, I become physically ill." But even the merest aroma of Paris turned Capote's delicate tummy. "I hate...
Handsome to tears, his face, even when he had been a child, lacked innocence. His was of that magnolia order of colouring, set off by unpleasantly untamed eyes, and teeth like flawless pearls...