Word: yonder
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Behold, what fullback through yonder defense breaks? It is Steve Ernst, and Harvard is the sun. Yet, see, the Crimson doth itself appear, as doth the blushing discontented sun from out the fiery portal of the Ivy League, when it perceives the envious Crusaders are bent to dim its glory and to stain the record of its bright passage through the 1983 schedule...
...Saul Bass, Ivan Chermayeff, Niels Diffrient, Milton Glaser and George Nelson, they turn the Academy into a happening, flying kites, making music of all kinds and building weird experimental structures. At an altitude of 8,000 ft., some of the proceedings tend to soar into the wild blue yonder...
...that has forever looked down a patrician nose at Colbert County. The view has always been that field hands and factory workers live over there in Colbert, while management lives back across the river here in Lauderdale. Now, however, the dry Chamber is talking with the wet Chamber over yonder about a merger. The view behind this turn seems to be that while the American economy may be on the mend, it will not be a fast mend, like darning a sock, and, rather than wait, well, liquor is quicker. - By Gregory Jaynes
...like a goddamned ant" and now that the war's over he's gonna harness these here fifty acres; his wife stands awkwardly on the porch and pulls at her shawl (for the entire play, in fact); and his well-rouged son chimes in about cutting the brush over yonder. Then a badly made-up "old" lady trudges in ringing a cow-bell. "It looks like she's holding a star in her hand," offers the son. So much for imagery. She stomps around the stage, cackling at her own feistiness, and the family plunks itself down to listen...
Others, though, can seek out the land, the profusion of growth and beauty that is never farther away than the dirt road over yonder. If a boy wants to get away and think, he can do so royally: "He stood in the light of birdleg-pink leaves, yellow flower vines, and scattered white blooms each crushed under its drop of water as under a stone, the maples red as cinnamon drops and the falling, thready nets of willows . . ." Such is lated scenes may some day seem as remote as Jane Austen's country villages. If so, the work...