Word: ponderator
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...find him," Biff said aloud. But where? What had he said--"The Bronze Rhinoceros--; it meant nothing to Biff. "What could it be?" wondered the detective--"The Bronze Rhinoceros--I've got to find out!" He set down at a desk to ponder the possibilities...
...fathers where he feels they may have mistaken the meaning of God's Word; even his admitted master, John Calvin, is not exempt. Once, when someone questioned the unorthodox way in which he was commenting on Calvin, Barth retorted: "Calvin is in Heaven and has had time to ponder where he went wrong in his teachings. Doubtless he is pleased that I am setting him aright...
Ever since former Ambassador Mikhail ("Smiling Mike") Menshikov left Washington in early January, the taciturn Soviet diplomatic delegation has been even quieter than usual under the interim command of Minister Counselor Mikhail Smirnovsky. While it waited for Dobrynin's arrival, official Washington had had time to ponder his credentials. A skilled diplomat and a top Soviet expert on the U.S., Dobrynin served at the Soviet embassy in Washington from 1952 to 1955. Later, at the U.N., he was Dag Hammarskjold's Under Secretary for Political and Security Council Affairs. He attended the Geneva summit conference...
Looking for easy laughs, several score men of Harvard crowded into a Cambridge common room to listen to a lecture on "The Actor and the Modern Theater" by a speaker who had never finished high school. But after hearing her modestly ponder everything from her own Hollywood career ("I was not happy being a blonde bombshell and all that jazz") to modern psychological drama ("Maybe the unnatural things in life are the only safe ones to write about these days"), the Harvards gave Actress Shelley Winters, 39, a standing ovation. Shelley's reaction: "One of the proudest achievements...
Every morning at Cambridge University, 3,401 budding scientists peer into electron microscopes or ponder the dynamics of rocket propulsion in air-conditioned labs that gleam with ultramodern glass and aluminum. Then, with medieval black gowns flapping, they ride off on rusty bicycles to another world: lunch with 3,751 arts undergraduates (never "students") fresh from reading Sophocles and Shakespeare in a library built by Christopher Wren. Soon scientists and classicists are sunk in shabby armchairs before gasping gas heaters, sipping sherry with their tutors. All around them is a happy blend of past and future: the green-lawned beauty...