Word: soul
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...stanza poem, dashed off by Virginia last week in Washington, where her husband was attending the governors' conference (see NATIONAL AFFAIRS) with President Eisenhower. Title: The President Smiled at Me. Excerpts: "The President smiled at me/ And every fiber of emotion swelled within my soul . . ./ So deep was my humility . . ./ When the President smiled...
Damn Yankees tells of a fanatical middle-aged rooter for the Washington Senators who mutters that he'd sell his soul to have them take the pennant from the Yankees. At once a buyer with a cloven hoof appears, and transforms beefy Joe Boyd into lithe, 22-year-old Joe Hardy, the greatest ballplayer of all time. There is, however, an escape clause in the deal; and to keep Joe from escaping his clutches, the Devil puts redheaded Miss Verdon to work as an enchantress...
...very little help to his actors. The people he created are, if anything, too articulate, and their lines are often so clever that they ring faintly of dishonesty. Poetry, especially as it is applied to the stage, can dig down into the depths of a human soul and reveal the raw emotions which lie hidden there. Fry's poetry seldom does this-it seems to float on the surface, a frosting on the dramatic cake. But if the poet cannot be profound, he at least knows how to be amusing. When the epigrams, many of which do contain some momentary...
...rests in a legacy of notes and scribblings still to be tested by men and machines. The search for it made the last part of his voyage the loneliest part of all. Albert Einstein, who often said he could not accept the doctrine of immortality of the soul, traveled the rim of mystery and at times, he admitted, it made him feel close to God. "I assert," he once said, "that the cosmic religious experience is the strongest and the noblest driving force . . . My religion consists of a humble admiration for the illimitable superior spirit who reveals Himself...
...seems that Actress Baxter, a blues belter who is apt to wear as many as several sequins at once, has gone from bed to worse: murder. The hero tries to save her soul, but he keeps hankering after her body. At one point, they stash away in an attic. As she rubs against him, he hesitates, looking less like St. Anthony before the Devil than an aging shortstop in confrontation with an alluring calorie, and is lost when the sound track weighs in with the kind of unhealthy music that passes censorship but might better be evaluated by a Wassermann...