Word: wining
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...hands to silence the applause. He removed his sport coat, revealing a white turtle-necked sweater, and there were a few whistles from the balcony. Smiling in a melancholy way, Bernstein announced, "The first number we shall rehearse, (Der Wein, by Albert Berg) is a group of sonnets about wine. In it, wine sings--in German, of course--as the first person: I comfort you, I fill your stomach, and so on." He then introduced the Wine, a black-haired soprano named Patricia Neway, who had poured herself into a black turtle-neck dress for the occasion...
...Dubuffet was never a lover of "false" classical art, and there were times when he was not sure he wanted to be an artist. After a few months of formal training in Paris, he decided that he had "nothing to learn in schools." He became a clerk, then a wine merchant, and for a while he was happy. "I was gaining a foothold. To complicate things, I needed a wife, furniture, a maid, a brother-in-law, a car, kids . . . [Then] catastrophe, it took hold of me again. I rented a little atelier on Boulevard Saint-Michel, I locked myself...
From his widow came a confident retort: nothing to it, really. "Jacques changed his name because his family was ashamed to have him in politics"; his father had wanted him to take up some respectable career like wine making. Jacques had rebelled and had gone into politics, using his underground resistance name...
...without considerable interest that I read Mr. Leve's recent letter to you regarding Moselle and other wines. Leve is a man of well-known connoisseurs and erudition, and I venture to suggest that he could not possibly have made some of the sweeping assertions therein attributed to him. It is difficult for me to conceive, much less believe, that a man of his caliber would willingly lend his name to such troglodytic and heretical statements as "no white wine...can really be said to improve with age," and "most connoisseurs would open their Moselles before three years." I feel...
They get precious little of it, for the duke is a skinflint. After every payday, he cheats his staff out of their wages in an unfriendly game of cards. Forever inviting guests, the duke is an outrageous host. The wine they admire, he knows will not "travel." Wheedled out of him and carted home, it tastes like vinegar. The villa's glittering bathrooms are tiled with condescending instructions: "Press handle down, hold for one minute and release with a slight jerk." The ten-year-old footman has been taught to speed departing guests with the final salute: "You-goddamned...