Word: twilighter
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...takes childish pride in the sag of his coat and the splay of his collar, what time he gets lost on a golden road to nowhere, beholding faery sights. Shadows are among his specialties. For The King of Elfland's Daughter (1924) he invented a whole zone of twilight, where unicorns browsed and cabbage-roots were thunderbolts. Now he writes of a crone, cheated of her shadow by a magician of old Spain, and of a romantic worldling who came to the magician's wood to learn the making of gold for his sister's dowry...
...Problem." Long a member of the law firm of Hays and Hays, he began to interest himself in politics, became the Republican National Committee Chairman in 1918. People wondered at this "human flivver," this sophisticated "booster," this shrewd politician who quoted the Golden Rule, who said, "There is no twilight zone in politics; right is right and wrong is wrong . . . rights shall be held equally sacred and sacredly equal...
...Adolph Zukor (now head of Famous Players) and the late Mitchell Mark. The venture was a penny arcade. Marcus Loew has turned that penny arcade into 350 theatres. "A Loew House in Every Town," his employes proudly proclaim - and the boast is true, or very nearly. Every evening, as twilight blows westward across the continent, the light of countless theatrical facades prick out his name in lights like little yellow dollars. "Loew" they twinkle, "Loew" they wink; they seem to be calling him, and for a while Marcus Loew responded by dashing perpetually from one to another. Then, tired...
...tribute of imitation. "If he had been capable of instruction," said the New York Evening Post at the time of his death," he would have been the greatest landscape artist of any period or people." The pictures that he painted with such stormy concentration were usually as tranquil as twilight. Brown cows sunk in August meadows, fly-twitching, drowsily browsing; sheep streaming, grey blurs, cloud-patterned, home over a hill to a fold of peaceful and fleecy sleep; valleys folded in mist, green V's in the breast-hollow of a hill-range, ponds lying like shields at sunset...
...woman in a black mantilla; Of an old, old woman with unutterable wisdom Behind her wordless reticence; who lights a candle In token of prayer before a faded picture of the Madonna. Or it is humble beauty- A flock of goats tumbling down a slope At twilight; or a silent beauty Of wine-dark shadows shed on purple hills...