Word: sainte
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...essay on Napoleon, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, "He was no saint-to use his word, 'no capuchin,' and he is no hero, in the high sense." Napoleon had fulfilled an earthly career, at any rate. His life went the full trajectory. One could study the line of it and know, for better and worse, what the man was, and did, and could do. He inhabited his life. He completed it. He passed through it to the end of its possibilities...
...York City's social and cultural elite. In a weird role reversal, the white upper-class Radical Chic back the Panther's spokesman into a corner with a barrage of questions. The Panthers have to be the diplomats, taming the enthusiastic "bunch of leaping, prancing, palsied happy-slobber Saint Bernards...
...nation's commitment. He was followed two days later by Vice President George Bush, who visited the site of the carnage wearing a helmet and flak jacket. On Thursday, Secretary of State George Shultz conferred with his French, Italian and British counterparts in the Paris suburb La Celle-Saint-Cloud. After a five-hour meeting under unusually tight security, at a secluded 17th century chateau, French Foreign Minister Claude Cheysson reiterated "the support of our governments for the Multi-National Force." In his nationwide address on television Thursday evening, President Ronald Reagan made the most forceful pitch...
...says Father Peter Manns, a Catholic theologian in Mainz. "On the question of truth, Luther is a lifesaver for Christians." While Western Protestants still express embarrassment over Luther's anti-Jewish rantings or his skepticism about political clergy, Communist East Germany has turned him into a secular saint because of his influence on German culture. Party Boss Erich Honecker, head of the regime's Luther-jahr committee, is willing to downplay Luther's antirevolutionary ideas, using the giant figure to bolster national pride...
...snapped in a bad light by a child holding its first camera." The body was pear-shaped and the vocal tones were not; they pontificated, or quavered with sentiment. The hands rose and fluttered independently, articulating a sweetly deranged sign language. Ralph Richardson was no matinee idol?no ethereal saint like John Gielgud, whose beautiful voice could coax meaning out of a computer printout; no demon lover like Laurence Olivier, with hellfire in his eyes and the coil of sexual danger. Sir Ralph walked the earth, with sure, heavy strides. When he left it last week at 80, his place...