Word: photograph
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...spells and "prayerful surges" welled up in the precocious little nipper when he realized that he was no more than a mewling suckling. At the age of eight, he was struck down by Asiatic cholera. He was at death's door when his mother gestured frantically toward a photograph of her favorite yogi, and screamed to her son: "Bow to him mentally [and] your life will be spared!" "I gazed at his photograph," Yogananda recalls, "and saw there a blinding light. . . . My nausea and other uncontrollable symptoms disappeared; I was well...
...valuable know-how is the result of all that Ralph has been and is. His familiarity with Mexican ways is perhaps best exemplified by his faith in the power of documents. Unimpressed by the ordinary correspondent's press card, he designed his own. It has space for his photograph, for numerous stamps -also of his own design-and for signatures and counter-signatures. The TIME bureau chief who first signed it was highly amused-until Ralph, on the strength of it, was ushered into a forbidden Mexican sanctuary one day while the bureau chief, lacking such elaborate identification...
...from-poisonous mistresses, whom they obtained through the Montmartre want-ad columns. Sample ad: "Artist, young, tall, healthy and sincere, seeks feminine friend (18-22), brunette, to chase away cafard (the beetle of loneliness), pretty, well formed, pretty legs, healthy, sincere, pecuniarily disinterested, affectionate; for durable relations; send photograph; professionals keep away...
Carder-Bresson was a corporal in the French army, spent 36 months in German P.W. camps. Twice he escaped and was recaptured. The third try worked. He went underground in Paris, emerged to photograph the liberation of fellow French prisoners by the Allies. Some of the results-such as his picture of a Gestapo informer being recognized by an ecstatically vengeful ex-prisoner at a D.P. interrogation center (see cut)-were masterpieces of tragic force...
...Joyce wrote about was, on the surface, the city of Dublin, where he had lived until, at 22, he forsook Ireland for lifelong expatriation on the Continent. His endless evocation of Dublin and the inner life of its people, pathetic, somnambulist, comic and dirty, was as factual as a photograph and as symbolic as a liturgy. Even sympathetic critics sometimes lost patience with him. Wrote Cyril Connolly...