Word: riche
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...PURCELL ANTHOLOGY (Angel). Some youthful discretions by England's greatest composer, performed in singing style by Violinists Yehudi Menuhin and Alberto Lysy and members of the Bath Festival Orchestra. Mood and key flash from dark to bright in the short, rich trio sonatas and free-form fantasias for string quartets. Although they show a polite acquaintance with Italian baroque, the selections mind their Purcellian manners nevertheless...
AFFAIRS AT STATE, by Henry Serrano Villard. An eminent career diplomat about to retire from the corps as Ambassador to Mauretania writes an acid lament for the lost art of diplomacy. His arguments are bitter: career men are undermined by rich, gauche political appointees; the meddlesome, myopic State Department has almost bankrupted the prestige of the U.S. ambassador...
...deliciously drugged had I been by my romanticized crusader, that the real man appalled me. Carter worked in a carpeted, air-conditioned office; he was rich, really rich--swimming pool, the works. Another thing, he didn't associate much with Negroes, at least not so far as I could tell. He liked parties, he could dance, and he was popular. What a phony, I thought. To us Cambridge journalists he had always been such a hero...
...hero, by contrast, comes off remarkably well. He is a "rich, rich writer," an "incomparable" reporter, an elephant hunter who makes Hemingway look like a boy scout, a backchat merchant who is "one of the funniest men alive," a "poontang kid" who is "really great in the sack," a friend of Toots Shor. He is, in fact, a man who has everything-including a couple of things Author Ruark wanted and never quite attained: a Pulitzer Prize and a civilized prose style...
Bars without rich smells but only spilled beer not wiped away, and neon blinking greenly, are no lovelier here than any other place. Urine long gone dead in hall-ways stinks as bad on Columbus Avenue as it does up two blocks from Charles Street or down two blocks from Harvard Square. And women on the corner, winos in the doorways, cops with callous faces and hardened eyes, do not summon up for me, as they do for some poetical white spirits, any vast romantic phantasies of luscious and previously unknown satisfactions...