Word: soule
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...half an hour in the Lincoln Bedroom I returned to my White House office. Soon Nixon called. I must not remember our encounter that evening as a sign of weakness, he said. How strange is the illusion by which men sustain themselves! This evening when he had bared his soul I saw a man of tenacity and resilience. And so I told the stricken President that if I ever spoke of the evening, it would be with respect. He had honored me by sharing with me his last free night in the White House. He had conducted himself humanly...
Working under a casual agreement with the legal thespians, our eager beaver poured his soul into those props and eagerly awaited the fame and fortune he deserved. As usual, the show was a flop, and to make matters worse, the neophyte craftsman was apparently told to take a hike without any pay because he hadn't signed a contract. Those Harvard Law students know how to drive a hard bargain...
...west of Quneitra, beyond the pre-1973 defense line. The grudging Israeli procedures, the interminable sessions, the innuendoes about duress, the Talmudic precision, the obvious anguish of our interlocutors created an atmosphere compounded of petty irritation and a strange kind of exaltation at witnessing a people baring its soul so nakedly. It obscured the fact that crabwise, in a manner least calculated to get it credit, the Israeli Cabinet was extending itself to overcome its nightmares and grasp its future. Things were moving in the right direction...
...players at least get to unpack for a three-day series, but the pro-basketball life constitutes vaudeville, endless one-night stands, night after night; catching the last flight at midnight or the first one in the morning; playing 100 games a year-too many for the body, the soul and even the customers. "Sometimes," says Grevey, "your legs start to ache real bad just walking down the steps to go to the game, and you realize they aren't even injured, they're just tired. Then, on the court, you feel like you're playing...
...more than a white mask facing a black one. I see two pictures of the soul and spirit--if you will have it straight. In our flesh-and-blood existence I think we are pictures of something. So I see a picture, and a picture. Race has no bearing on it. I see Spofford Mitchell and Sally Sathers, two separatenesses, two separate and ignorant intelligences. One is staring at the other with terror, and the man is filled with a staggering passion to break through, in the only way he can conceive of breaking through--a sexual crash into release...