Word: wineglass
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...tactile: how the tambour lid of the round box accords with the oval shape of the canvas itself and is echoed by the drumlike tightness of the paper tied over the apricot jar; how the horizontal axis of the table is played upon by the stuttering line of red-wineglass, fruit, and painted fruit on the coffee cups; how the slab of bread repeats the rectangular form of the packet on the right, with its cunningly placed strings; and how all these rhymes of shape and format are reinforced by the subtle interchange of color and reflection between the objects...
Rubens never forgot the lesson of Venetian art: with every object, from a wineglass to a woman's belly, brought to its fullest luster as substance, "luxury" meant completeness of being. There is something quite transcendental about Rubens' incessant delight in the material world. Every dimple or blush on the skin of Helene Fourment, the child wife of his old age (she was 16, he 53, when they were married in 1630), is both the record of desire and a proclamation of God's generosity. Rubens' world was tumescent; even the eyes in his portraits, large...
...Nixon portrayed by Colson is at once arrogant and vindictive, reflective and melancholy, and finally desperate and isolated. He is a man incapable of savoring his triumphs, for beyond them his enemies were still lurking. While his finger slowly circled the rim of a wineglass, Nixon told his aides: "One day we'll get them-we'll get them on the ground where we want them. And we'll stick our heels in, step on them hard and twist." His eyes darted to Kissinger. "Henry knows what I mean-just like you do in the negotiations, Henry...
...E.D.T. For the viewer-cook inclined to split piselli, it must be said that Pa and Ma (Italian-born Franco and Irish-English Margaret) Romagnoli are a bit offhand. He says add a cup of vinegar, but what he does is slosh a slug of it into a wineglass, eye it with a shrug, and toss it in. A few Romagnoli dishes - hot Swiss chard with olive oil, spareribs and sausages mired in thick sauce - are the sort of thing only an Italian mama could love. But these are piffling objections. This is not the haute cuisine of Julia Child...
...stem of the wineglass snapped in his fingers and the liquor spilled like blood on the white napery," Morris West reports at a tense moment in this thriller about international banking. The sentence tells most of what the prospective thrillee needs to know about Harlequin. Not very long after the invention of the novel, literature divided into two mighty streams, one in which wineglass-stem snapping during moments of tension was impermissible and another in which it was obligatory. Admirers of one stream do not go boating on the other...