Word: utters
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Jenner to vilify those things and those people he considers sacrosanct? The General has strained the theory of political unity to the point of dissolution when he makes such rapprochements in its name. For want of a political adult, then, the Republican Crusade has been compromised, reduced to utter sterility...
...felt, and failed to conceal, an utter contempt for the Old Bolsheviks' sentimental, old-grad memories and their pious reverence for the prophets Marx and Engels. "It is impossible to believe," wrote a British observer, "that there is no contempt in [Malenkov's] eye as he watches older men putting themselves through absurd and elaborate contortions to reconcile what is with what was supposed to be. His is the world that is." Apparently he did not mind being considered a heretic by such passionately doctrinaire Marxists as Andrei Zhdanov (touted frequently in the mid-'40s as Stalin...
...cynical. And it is usually when trying to emulate this toughness that Coghill's witty, elegant rendering is inadequate. Try as he may, he cannot quite evoke in the tones of modern poetry that grim old Britain in which full-belliedness and famine, bestiality and piety, riches and utter penury were all such close neighbors that a man might step at any given moment from one condition to another. Transcribing, for example, the winter days so dreaded in those times, Coghill writes...
...correct if prudish definition of snafu as "situation normal, all fouled up" is a reminder that there were exclusively British ascending and descending degrees of snafu. There was the "self-adjusting snafu" and the "non-self-adjusting snafu." And there was the climactic "cummfu," which, roughly translated, meant "complete utter monumental military foul...
...Stephane) and ailing, somnambulistic Paul (Edouard Dermithe) live like "two limbs of the same body," isolated from the outside world in an unreal, fabulously disordered "turtle's shell" of a room in a Montmartre apartment. In this chamber, "balanced on the brink of a myth," they play in utter unselfconsciousness a childish-grown-up sort of game: prancing and pluming themselves, idolizing and tormenting each other, cramming themselves gluttonously with a sticky hodgepodge of sensations...