Word: wanderer
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...fire hose. After that, Gutman refused me admittance due to my history of crying into the books and ruining the bindings. Tears welling and covered in poorman’s Astroturf, I was mortified. I was feeling a little down after this double rejection so I started to wander over towards Eliot to visit DA. I wanted a little pick me up, so I took off my corduroys and my boxers, put the corduroys back on inside out, and then jogged the rest of the way to Eliot. When I got to DA’s room I obviously needed...
...unfolds as though time were no object. But, as in real life, you look at the date and without you even noticing it, 20 years have passed. It’s a somber realization that casts its shadow over the entire book, as the visceral realists and their companions wander the globe, searching for something they’ll never find, slowly losing both their collective identity and their health. Appropriately, Bolaño ends by returning to García Madero’s journal. For the last 50 pages, time turns back and we’re allowed...
...Beah highlights the effects of a brutal civil war that left a mark on anyone it touched. A child who loved hip hop and performed interpretative dances to the likes of LL Cool J, Beah lived a normal life that was interrupted by rebel soldiers who forced him to wander from town to town with his friends in search of safety. After his parents were killed by the rebels, Beah was forced into the army at gunpoint, constantly reminded about his parents’ murder and fed drugs that numbed the physical pain of his wounds and made it possible...
...gaunt and pockmarked” whores, heartrending cries from Bedlam.These injustices are of course akin to those described in Blake’s “Songs of Experience” poem “London,” which Jem overhears Mr. Blake reciting: “I wander through each chartered street...And mark in every face I meet / Marks of weakness, marks of woe.”In her prose, Chevalier lyrically captures the prevailing mood of London as a lurid “yellow light from the pub staining the fog the color of phlegm...
...this pleasantly addled state. And that was part of the problem with his current life, he reckoned--his familiarity with almost every board and stone and step of Manhattan, his habitat by now so well known that even in a light opium haze he was able to wander for a mile, chatting silently with himself...