Word: shallow
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Napoleona went on exhibition last week at the Museum of French Art in Manhattan. Maudlin sentimentalizers sniffled; shallow women giggled, pointed. In a glass case they saw something looking like a maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace or a shriveled eel. It was a mummified tendon taken from Napoleon's body at the postmortem. Then there were locks of Napoleon's hair, his white breeches, a flounce of Alengon lace from Marie Louise's wedding dress, a baby dress worn by L'Aiglon (Napoleon's only legitimate child), a death mask of Napoleon cast in bronze...
This is no occasion, indeed, for smug and shallow indifference. The omission of Cambridge is a telling criticism. A chastened humility and a pontent reformation are called for. The influence of such an advertisement on the college aspirations of prepratory school graduates need hardly be mentioned. The question is more vital even than that. It is one that endangers the high fame and eminence of Harvard University. There can be but one answer...
...student conference at Chicago this week called to consider world peace is another in a long series of such conferences which have taken place with growing frequency since 1920. They are not to be dismissed by the refusal of the shallow or the cynical to discriminate between the socially minded man and the unadjusted crank who, like Calvin, well deserves the epithet of accusative ease...
...living seems to know. It baffled one A. H. Leonard who bought the buffalo herd last April with the idea of selling the animals to zoos. Not only were the creatures too wild to catch, but the five-mile stretch of water between island and mainland was too shallow for barges, too deep for motor trucks. If John E. Dooley swam and waded his small herd out to the island, that was a feat in itself. Rounding up the Dooley herd's 300 descendants and making them swim back would be impossible...
...that he was not troubled by the "perilous and incomprehensible moods and passions that animate the poet's soul," that his grief was real but "does not touch those dark levels of tragedy that mark great love affairs," that "his nature, be it repeated again, is not deep but shallow." All this may be true, but how be sure? Admitting that all the moods and passions and dark levels of tragedy are not to be found in his writing, just as there is rather shallowness than depth in much of it, need one be so confident in pronouncing...