Word: paassen
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...superior account of one woman's reactions to the Nazi regime. Not passionate in its hatred, but one the less deeply moving. . . David Lloyd George's "Memoirs of the Peace Conference' reconstruct, from an unmistakable viewpoint, the peace conference which made no peace at all. . . Pierre van Paassen's "Days of our Years" remains one of the most enthralling, and certainly the best written, of the "personal histories" which the future will find useful in reconstructing our times. Mr. Van Paassen's literary gifts are sufficient to raise his book well above the level of what used to be called...
...power politics back of it, not one had seen action on any front last week. Ernest Hemingway was at his ranch in Montana, working on a new book. Vincent Sheean was in Manhattan, awaiting the birth of a child to his English wife. Pierre van Paassen, onetime Toronto Star correspondent in Spain, author of the bestseller, Days of Our Years, was on board the U. S. liner Manhattan, bound for New York...
DAYS OF OUR YEARS-Pierre van Paassen-Hillman-Curl...
...dead eddy of time after the War, a young Dutch ex-divinity student and soldier named Pieter Antonie Laurusse van Paassen found himself in Canada bouncing from job to job. He wrapped department store parcels, peddled magazines, delivered milk, fired locomotives, collected streetcar fares, worked on a blasting gang in gold mines of the Big Dome. Every time he tried a new job, he quickly decided he had missed his calling. Finally, by shutting his eyes and putting his finger down on a list of vocations ranging from accountant to sausage maker, he picked what proved a relatively permanent...
...phrase "snowflakes fluttering from a pitilessly gray heavenly roof." Heaven, it seemed, was never pitiless. After morning prayers he took snuff, which made him sneeze so vehemently that he staggered. This staggering, says the author, was the only physical exercise he ever took. > In Bourg, France, where van Paassen lived for a time, he stopped to chat with a gravedigger, said he was on his way to Paris to write political notes on Laval. From the bottom of a slimy pit, tossing up half-rotten skulls to make room for a new corpse, the gravedigger shook his head and said...