Word: sticked
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...nationwide outbreak, Sukarno went on the radio almost immediately to announce his survival. "This is my voice, the voice of Sukarno," he said. "I want to express my gratitude to God Almighty that I have been saved from assassination. I urge calm and intensified national security. Let us stick together in our grief. May God protect us all." This done, Sukarno set out to discover who among his myriad enemies had tried to kill...
...alternative is cooperating with Batista in the election that he has set for June1. To this idea, rebels of every coloring snap one answer: "We will not deal with a gangster for our country." They will stick with Castro, who may become the brilliant liberator that his young followers see, or only, as one older rebel worried last week, "a man on horseback." It was not lost on thoughtful Cubans last week that Colonel Fermin Cowley, murdered by the rebels and mourned by Batista, was an idealistic young rebel himself 25 years...
...made me want to paint the richness we can see and feel." He went to Italy, where the Renaissance had spread its richness across acres of church and palace walls. Inspired by Giotto, Uccello and Andrea del Castagno, he resolved to paint, as they had, for the millions: "I stick to my idea of a clear, firm, simple and precise art that everyone can understand...
Lord of the Wards. Verlaine did not stick to his reformed way of life. Absinthe and syphilis drove him into a public hospital, where he "was looked after like a child [and] had absolutely no responsibility." This being the condition he had always sought, Verlaine developed a passion for hospitals. Propped up on pillows, he "wrote his way through reams of hospital paper, pouring out poems, prose [and] presided in state over all the affairs of the ward." Young poets and admirers came daily to his bedside, listened rapturously while the Master, his hospital nightcap jauntily askew, recited his poems...
...Philharmonia Orchestra faded away and a hush fell over London's Royal Festival Hall. A tall, slightly stooped figure in a frock coat emerged from behind a yellow curtain. Feet dragging, he made his way to the podium with the help of a heavy walking stick. As the applause thundered down, the man's solemn, craggy face remained expressionless and unseeing as a blind man's. Otto Klemperer, 72, painfully mounted the podium, planted his feet firmly apart, and gave the downbeat for Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. It was the climactic moment of a current London...