Word: personal
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Stevenson need not take all this too personally, wherever he is. He is only the latest person chosen to nourish the joy that lies in being shown that, in actual fact, the idol's feet are of a very crumbly clay. In due time, he will come into his own again. The true Stevenson will at length emerge, a man somewhat between the idealistic angel against whom Mr. Hellman has delivered his broadside, and the opposite conception which he himself has delineated...
...general public by sawing wood for exercise. The fates who pursue fallen great men to the end seem to have lost their grip. This latest development makes him, by any economic standards, comfortably well off. There are not lacking hints that he will occupy the newly acquired castle in person; in which case, he will be able to entertain distinguished foreigners by the score who eare to listen to his diagnosis of the war and his reminiscences of how Margot Asquith knocked his foot out of the stirrup on Rotten...
Insulted, Mr. Cohen replied shrilly, intimating that the streets were free for those who cared to hasten or to tarry; adding further that he was not to be trifled with by a person of inferior coloring. He rose from his safe seat behind the steering wheel and thrust his sallow, ratlike countenance as close as possible to that of Mr. Johnson...
...cure for Keeley. He asks, "Why add one more to the myriad existing anthologies of the world's best poetry?" He has not added "one more." He explains with becoming lightness that he has tried to pick poems for their mental reaction on the reader; for example, if a person suffers from mental malnutrition, he might prescribe spiritual vitamines. The subtitle of his book is "A Pocket Medicine Chest of Verse." He furnishes 14 packets of medicine for specific mental ailments: "Stimulants for a Faint Heart (Poems of Courage)"; "Mental Cocktails and Spiritual Pick-Me-Ups (Poems of Laughter)"; "Massage...
...small-town wife, tired of her husband, is the central character. The husband is equally weary. There appears the inevitable third angle to the triangle in the person of a beautiful, accomplished and slightly shopworn opera singer. Singer and husband fall on each other's neck. After some exceedingly interesting internal conflict the wife decides that she is not so tired as she thought. The husband wakes up with equal abruptness and peace is made. The opera singer-much the wisest and most worthy figure-is left in somewhat lonely splendor...