Word: soul
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...tyrant's death, there was not a single mention by press or radio of the man Nikita Khrushchev once fulsomely praised as "our great leader, our friend and father, the greatest man of our epoch." In all of Moscow's millions, only a single anonymous soul dared to pay respects-with three rubles worth of yellow mimosa on Stalin's black marble slab near the Kremlin wall...
...eased and frustrations forgotten: Quern sabe? What the statistics did not show was the thousands of times the police simply looked the other way, following an unwritten law governing the free spirits of carnival. "Americans have money," rasped one exhausted tourist when it was all over, "but Brazilians have soul...
...streak of pale green envy. Abuse turns him purple, but he never bursts into flame. When he asks politely for his violin, for example, it is tossed in a high parabola from the wings and smashes at his feet. He turns to the audience and draws every living soul to his side with the glazed-over helpless look that was once said to resemble "a calf that had just been struck between the eyes with a sledgehammer...
...always had it in my soul," Rene Fribourg once said, "to love French 18th century things. It is true that my bedroom is Napoleon I, and my wife's bedroom is Charles X, but most of the rest is 18th century. I love Louis XV and Louis XVI." Until his death at 83 in January, only guests to the white stone Fribourg mansion off upper Fifth Avenue ever saw his big collection of furniture, art objects and painting; now it is to be knocked down at auction. Peter Wilson, suave chairman of the world's biggest auction house...
...when it fails to arrive they lead him grimly to the gallows. What matters is the compelling illusion of life as it is lived in an average anachronistic prison: the natural humanity of the prisoners and their guards, the subhuman system that makes them beasts and keepers, the soul-destroying hatred of either for other, the teeth that glitter cruelly behind every smile, the moral stench of slowly rotting lives, the wit honed to a cutting edge on iron bars...