Word: vivants
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Born into a wealthy landowning family in Tay Ninh province. Tri choppered daily between the battlefield and his sumptuous villa, complete with swimming pool, on the river at Bien Hoa. There, Tri reveled in the role of host, bon vivant and raconteur. He was something of a zoo keeper as well, with ducks, pigeons, a deer, an ox and a pig roaming the grounds. Tri was devoted to his wife and six children; he taught economy to the younger ones by using their allowances to buy animal feed for the pig, then letting them split the profit when...
Where are the big brave warriors now? . . . His silver, supersonic soarer. His bomb-blowing, truck-finding Sea-swooping carrier Where is it? Him, the educated engineer, architect, Geologist, economist, turned Bon vivant aviator, Where is he? . . . He drank at Cubi, swaggered at Yokuska, Rested in Honolulu. He was proud. Mom, apple pie and the red, white and blue were with him. Now he is in a cell. He wears pajamas, sleeps on a mat . . . And waits. He waits for the red. white and blue...
...beads. His faint-striped suits are from Brooks Brothers (with cuffs). With his almost white hair combed straight back and struggling to edge down over his shirt collar and his delicately pale skin, he more resembles an aristocratic Prussian officer than a commune leader. Something of a bon vivant, he swings with more of an old-fashioned zest for good wine, women, song and conversation than with any new lifestyle. He used to be a regular guest, for instance, at the elegant Establishment soirees of fustian Columnist Joseph Alsop, once even offering to wear a dinner jacket if Alsop would...
...building will stand against Manhattan's evening skyline just as Mies planned that it should. Similarly, any tenant moving into his apartment houses on Chicago's Lake Shore Drive has to accept the gray fiberglass curtains that Mies specified for their floor-to-ceiling windows. A bon vivant who enjoyed fine-tailored suits, gourmet food, and huge cigars, Mies once contemplated moving into his own building, then decided to remain in his oldfashioned, high-ceilinged apartment nearby. Visitors there found it characteristically spartan, decorated simply with black leather settees and easy chairs and a superb collection of Paul...
Pompidou, the banker, poet, and bon vivant, continued to go out of his way to picture himself, not very convincingly, as an ordinary Frenchman, a sort of Pompoher. "When I go through a red light," he told one audience, "I get tickets and pay them like everyone else. I know about domestic problems, the worries of the children and the dishes to be washed...