Word: savoring
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...fictional achievement not won wider popularity in the U.S.? Some British critics feel that the difficulty lies in unfamiliarity with the moods and mores of the British upper classes. Others suggest that some acquaintance with the flesh-and-blood originals of Powell's fictional characters is necessary to savor his prose. But would it really help to know that Moreland, the intelligent musician who provides such a sparkling commentary on this world, was perhaps drawn from Composer Constant Lambert, or that the vastly comic Widmerpool was lovingly conjured from the fatuous figure of a minor Tory Cabinet Minister...
...said Richard Nixon to his party workers during the campaign. So he said again when he appeared before his followers to accept and savor his victory. Now he could forget the defeats, both the hairbreadth miss of 1960 and the humiliating rebuff of 1962. Now he could put behind him the fear that maybe he was, after all, a born loser. Now he could relish the fruits of unremitting labor for his party, of countless fund-raising dinners and victory banquets and formula speeches in remote towns. Now he could demonstrate to the nation-and perhaps to himself- just what...
...group dutifully followed Reisner to the men's room. "It's a gold mine," Reisner exulted. Three at a time, they crowded into the dingy lavatory to savor the myriad scrawls that adorned the walls and even the ceiling. "Listen to this!" said one of the girls, copying furiously in her notebook. "Nostalgia isn't what it used to be." "Marvelous!" said Reisner...
...books, or a million years old and has written 87 books. Anyhow the figures strain the imagination-but not more so than this potty tale about a bogus butler who sets out to burgle a Worcestershire bank. Connoisseurs of the old master's brand of daffy brouhaha will savor it to the last page. For those who don't trust any writer over 80-well, maybe they should sample a little vintage Wodehouse first, like a whiff of Carry On, Jeeves! (1925), or the tiniest dollop of Love Among the Chickens...
...three caged chickens who presumably work for Rauschenberg. And during a performance of Michael Benedikt's poems from his collection The Body, there was the sound of oscillating necks as the audience tried to keep up with the nudie films that were projected on opposing walls. But to savor Benedikt's laconic wit, the peace and quiet of the printed page are still necessary...