Word: smells
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...King's College, Cambridge, where he has lived as an Honorary Fellow since 1946. Age has not dulled his gentle wit. Asked if he would not some day want his death to be commemorated in King's Chapel, he replied: "Oh, no, not the chapel. That would smell too much of religion. It would be letting the humanists down...
PAULING is the book's hero-at-a distance (when he dines with Pauling near the end of the book Watson proudly writes that Pauling prefers his youthful company to Crick's). But Watson's other scientist-characters are viewed from up close, and you can smell them. From the opening line ("I never saw Francis Crick in a modest mood"), Watson is critical of all his scientific colleagues at Cambridge and in London. But he is even more critical of the lesser scientists who were not his colleagues, and who form the bulk of the profession. "A goodly number...
...Smell of Death. To be sure, Betio has become the Broadway of Tarawa. A dance hall teems with devotees of the newly discovered twist. Outdoor movies attract audiences of hundreds each evening (10? to sit on the ground, 20? upstairs). But blockhouses and rusting gun barrels still pock the landscape, and laborers regularly unearth skeletons that have been buried beneath the sand for a quarter-century. It all came back, Sherrod reported-"the sweetly sickening smell of death given off by thousands of bodies rapidly rotting in the tropical sun, the sight of an island stripped of every...
...PAXTON: MORNING AGAIN (Elektra). This is folk without folksiness. Paxton's trimmings may sometimes be countrified or traditional, but in this, his fourth LP, his essence emerges as urban and contemporary. When he writes a talking blues, it is about pot-smoking platoons in Viet Nam who smell "like midnight on St. Marks Place" (in Manhattan's hippie East Village). Appropriately, style and melody take second place in his songs to the compressed sophistication of his lyrics. Somewhat world-weary and very world-wary, they capsule the Paxton mixture of soft sympathies and hard ironies. Among the best...
...sheets require a body moving between them to make the composition complete. "What I am doing," reflects Lygia Clark, "could almost be called art for the blind, but for the rest of us it is important too. We do everything so automatically that we have forgotten the poignancy of smell, of physical anguish, of tactile sensations of all kinds...