Word: weepingly
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...dancing goes beyond thought and, most definitely, beyond reason. We fall down, get up again, and smash into innocent bystanders and other exhausted but resilient dancers. The last song is announced: "Nothing But a House Party." It lasts forever and our muscles pitifully weep for the clock to strike the hour...
More accurate than elegant, McClintick's tinsel raker has attracted the general public as well as the corporate elite and has climbed onto the bestseller lists. Surprisingly, it does not peer in Bel Air bedrooms. Instead, it focuses on the boardrooms of East Coast conglomerates. There, his minimoguls weep, curse and whisper. The reason? Actor Cliff Robertson had informed authorities that a $10,000 check was forged by Begelman. Why, insiders wondered, had the six-figure-salaried studio chief, a former talent agent and model for the ruthless Lyon Burke in Valley of the Dolls, not merely borrowed...
...diaries embrace the latter, often during pauses from work or in moments snatched between social engagements. Compared with letters, her diaries also full of shoptalk as she labors on The Years, Three Guineas, her biography of Fry. Not that this is mundane stuff. Here was a woman who could weep over her earlier entries: "The sense of all that floating away for ever down the stream, unknown for ever." Ultimately the diaries had the same spiritual stake for her as the rest of her writing. "If one does not lie back & sum up & say to the moment, this very moment...
...perhaps unnecessary to add that women will cheer and men will weep (and vice versa) when Zack passes all the tests the Navy and the opposite sex can devise and emerges as a man worthy of having a few million bucks' worth of F-111 in his hands, not to mention a lovely bride. Gere and Winger play this nonsense as if neither one of them had ever seen an old-fashioned military romance, and bless their youthful innocence, perhaps they haven't. Director Hackford, however, surely has, since he demonstrates an encyclopedic eye for their clich...
...Earth's work-five earlier novels, including The Sot-Weed Factor (1960), and two collections of shorter fiction-may be able to deny or evade this issue. Art is pattern and design, after all, not morality. Or, on another front: a writer must use material, however unpleasant, not weep over or try to correct it. Fine. But those who feel claustrophobic in the presence of smug, self-deluded solipsism may also decide to skip the whole experience. Barth has often been a pleasant guide through the states of his mind; Susan and Fenwick, his alter egos...