Word: sorrowed
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...severe domestic depression and regimentation. For those who hope to rule the world, to win what some scholars like to call "the game of world domination," American policies in Southeast Asia may appear rational. To the citizens of the empire, at home and abroad, they bring only pain and sorrow. In this respect we are reliving the history of earlier imperial systems. We have had many opportunities to escape this trap and still do today. Failure to take advantage of these opportunities, continued submission to indoctrination and indifference to the fate of others, will surely spell disaster for much...
...minute one that Furie has concocted. Pollard, an amalgam of chagrin and Silly Putty, is C.W. Mossier than ever. Redford is one of the few actors who can look gaudy wearing nothing but blue jeans. But both characters have infantile psyches; they seem as incapable of sorrow as of happiness. The aimless script is even more anesthetized. Its lame jokes are articulated by stunted heroes and vapid chicks: the halt leading the bland. Though its budget appears generous, the film's editing is cut-rate; scenes end in mid-sentence and time is perpetually out of joint...
...woman can really sing the blues, because they cannot have known the pain of body and soul from which true blues rise. In her music, Janis certainly came as close to authentic blues as any white singer ever has. Her life, too, contained generous portions of disorder and early sorrow. In her native Port Arthur, Texas (pop. 56,000), a staid Gulf Coast city dominated by the oil refineries that employed her father, she was an awkward child, part tomboy, part appassionata manqué. Save for a brief stint as a cherubic church soprano, she was an outcast, a rebel...
...than Death. Dr. Houston then told me that I would spend some time contemplating this imagery and that I would understand, in a way that would be deep and permanent, something of the problem of injustice. What followed was ineffable, except to say that I became more and more sorrowful at what I envisaged (indeed, tears were streaming down my face); yet increasingly I could "see," in the most profound way I have ever known that the beauty of life far exceeds the sorrow, the injustice...
...allowed it to-and of course I didn't want it to. But Dr. Houston kept insisting, and gradually I was able to relinquish my hold as I watched it disappear, leaving only vast, empty blackness. I felt no panic. I was resigned, but enormously sad. The sorrow increased as I looked into the blackness, and I was aware of tears flowing hard. Eventually I had to restrain myself from sheer bawling. I knew objectively that I was sitting there alive and well in a room in Upper Manhattan, but subjectively the sensation of death was as vivid...