Word: prided
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Only a fortnight ago, Holland was involved in the gigantic struggle of the great powers of western Europe. In 5 days the main part of my country was either laid waste or reduced to ashes. The tulip fields, in full bloom, the pride of every Hollander, portrayed a symbol of the country's desolate destruction after the wheels of Mars' juggernaut had trampled them. For a few days, the whole world's attention was focussed on Holland. Then, the war moved on. New battles took place and my country's plight no longer was expressed in the headlines...
...humorless as Marxian sectarian journalists, as human beings the Partisan Review editors are an eager, uneven, engaging crew. Happiest when criticizing critics, capitalizing on capitalists and declaring war on "Imperialist War," they are almost as happy when they can snag a literary lion. Of these they have snagged a pride, from Apostle Trotsky himself to such international camelo-pards as Andre Gide and Gertrude Stein. Latest catch is Poet T. S. Eliot's new, beautiful, 200-line poem for the current May-June issue...
Last week the Skidroad was fit to bust with pride over Sexton Fitzgerald. For his 32 years of shy and selfless service, the Pope himself had sent him a gold medal-the Benemerenti medal originated in 1832 by Gregory XVI to reward distinguished civil and military service for the faith...
According to the New York Evening Post of the following day, "a large and generous spirit prevailed. The Harvard spirit did not degenerate into exclusive pride of self-admiration . . . The general spirit was that this must not be the last social meeting of sons of Harvard in New York City...
...stopped taking bets on Big Bim, horse players turned their attention to his dwarfed rivals: Arnold Hanger's Dit (winner of last week's Wood Memorial), William L. Brann's Pictor (who romped off with the Chesapeake Stakes fortnight ago), Charles S. Howard's Mioland (pride of the West Coast), Tony Pelleteri's Andy K. (Mr. Big's chief rival last year). They kept their fingers crossed, remembering well that Colonel Bradley's last winter-book favorite (Blue Larkspur in 1929) came in fourth...