Word: moi
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1950-1959
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...Sack speaks to us in not one but nine languages on the pages of this dreary little treatise. There are passages in English, French, Spanish, Dutch, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Latin, and a bastard tongue called Talkie-talkie; phrases like "non, ce n'etait pas moi" (French) and 'nihongo wa wakarimasu ka (Japanese, perhaps) go untranslated; and even when he keeps to English, Mr. Sack uses words like tarsier, euphoria, and hematemesis. The reader might well ask: what is Mr. Sack trying to hide? The answer can be found in chapter 19, if one has the idleness or stamina to read...
...Faust sings, "A moi, Satan, à moi!" and throws his book into the fireplace. An electrician switches on a fan, which sends flame-colored paper streamers upward into sight of the audience. The basement maestro makes an abrupt pronouncement: "Up with him!" The stagehands lift the platform and Mephisto into the air. The audience first sees him sitting on the arm of the chair that screens the trapdoor, nonchalantly swinging his foot and cane. Meanwhile, behind the rear study wall. Marguerite (Soprano Nadine Conner) is climbing a narrow set of stairs to a platform, aided by a stagehand...
Mendes did not stop with the Assembly vote on the London agreement, but drove for a bigger prize: Socialist participation in his government. On the telephone he offered Guy Mollet four Cabinet posts in return for Socialist support. Asked Mollet: Who will select the ministers? Answered Mendes: "Moi." Soon it was common knowledge that Socialist support of the government was only a matter of time...
Rural Reactionary. French nightclub singers, much easier to remember than French premiers, are possibly better guides to their country's history. There was Lucienne Boyer, who had her heyday in the uncertain years between the wars, a trim but still sizable singer who put across Parlez-Moi d'Amour as if Paris and amour had not changed since the golden nineties (although one line in the song admitted: "Actually, I don't believe any of it"). Then came Edith Piaf, so thin that she was barely visible through the nightclub smoke, with an occasional sentimental number...
...ARNE Moi Rio de Janeiro