Word: mane
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...they make beautiful music together, pouring out the big, lush organ-like sound that is the maestro's trademark. While Stokowski's days as the glamour boy of the podium are behind him, the long slender hands still dance like birds when he conducts, the silver mane still shakes in splendid disarray, the great craggy profile still sparks a response. And as always, he still juggles the orchestra's seating arrangements to gain special effects, still edits Beethoven and Brahms to suit his own taste...
...last book was written under a painful burden of arthritis. What kept her going? "My gambler's spirit, my instinct for the game of life." Night after night, often all night, the aging lioness with the mad grey mane and a brow like Beethoven's sat writing under the strong blue light she loved. "Go away slowly, slowly, without tears; forget nothing! Go away adorned, and do not stop on the irresistible way, do not stop for rest except to die. And if you have, to the very end, kept in your hand the friendly hand that guides...
Prophetic Inspiration. As a young man he was everything northern women love about Italy: wild mane and burning eyes, sensuous lips and rich, soft voice. Wherever he played, and he played from St. Petersburg to San Francisco, Ferruccio was besieged by women who wanted to make beautiful music with him. It cannot be said that he was always faithful to his piano, but in the broad Italian construction of the term he was loyal to his wife, a placid Swedish girl who thought he was simply wonderful...
...image of corruption that might well tempt a gentleman to corporate risks. She is the apotheosis of trumped-up celebrity, an authentic contemporary creature whose every misstep makes thousands leer. Because her passions are only skin-deep, her tragedy is trivial. But at every toss of her blonde mane, every shard of a smile, all else on the screen becomes mere backdrop. Her stunning presence-and Schlesinger's stylish tracking of a playgirl's progress -makes Darling irresistible...
...felt so rewarded at seeing your article on Sergiu Celibidache [TIME, June 4]. When I lived in Berlin after the war, hearing the Berlin Philharmonic on a Sunday afternoon was the highlight of the week. Then Maestro Celibidache wore his hair quite long; it was a veritable mane that swung to and fro with every movement of his spirited conducting. I thought he was terrific, hair and all. Ever since, I have wondered what happened to him. Thank you for clearing up the mystery...