ellauri054.html on line 314: With the cliffs of England crumbling away behind them,
ellauri160.html on line 182: Samuel Putnam knew Pound in Paris in the 1920s and described him as stubborn, contrary, cantankerous, bossy, touchy, and "devoid of humor"; he was "an American small-towner", in Putnam's view. His attitude caused him trouble in both London and Paris. English women, with their "preponderantly derivative" minds, were inferior to American women who had minds of their own, he wrote in the New Age. The English sense of what was right was based on respect for property, not morality. "Perched on the rotten shell of a crumbling empire", London had lost its energy. England's best authors—Conrad, Hudson, James, and Yeats—were not English. English writers and critics were ignorant, he wrote in 1913.
ellauri216.html on line 324: According to a 2010 survey, there are a total of 36,700 villages in Russia with fewer than 10 inhabitants. Traditionally Russia’s agricultural land was subdivided into a patchwork of villages and fields, interspersed by forest and marsh. Now the villages are deserted and crumbling: the state closes them down, often on a whim, and young people leave to find work elsewhere. Matilda Moreton tells the tragic story based on fieldwork in the Russian North.
ellauri324.html on line 224: Why is America in such poor shape, with its crumbling roads, crappy power distribution, and pitiful public transport systems? It is because Americans have been propagandized for decades into believing that “liberty” is the ultimate virtue, and this “liberty” is so valuable that it justifies the cost of living as a selfish asshole under a dysfunctional government. “Raise taxes to pay for public infrastructure?” “Jeez Louise; over my dead body! Taxation is theft, government is bad!” For much of the 20th century, America defined itself against the collectivist USSR, and the fatuous argument was made that since everything was under the control of the state in the USSR, the US government should do as little as possible, apart from outspending the evil Commies in national defense.
ellauri324.html on line 232: Living in my little enclave, with its fragile electricity supply, and crumbling roads, it’s easy for my neighbors and I to think that things aren’t so bad, but in under an hour, I can travel to SF and see scenes exactly like the one in the last photo. Whilst people are constantly harping on about whether the Democrats or the Republicans are better or worse than each other, they are ignoring the fact that both parties have done nothing to seriously address the severe decay that is undeniably afflicting America’s social and physical fabric.
xxx/ellauri121.html on line 308: In the early 70s, Atwood added considerably to her work as a teacher and writer by editing manuscripts for the cutting-edge nationalist publisher The House of Anansi. By then, her marriage to Polk was over (Sullivan is vague about why, offering mainly generalities about the difficulty of staying together in that morally freewheeling era. Fact is, Jim Polk was not enough of a handyman for manly Margaret.) In 1972, Atwood met Gibson, a novelist and cultural activist whose own marriage was crumbling. The two began an affair, meeting at first clandestinely in the basement office of Toronto’s Longhouse Bookshop, but soon living together—for several years on a working farm north of the city.
xxx/ellauri251.html on line 3183: Are as light dust and crumblings from mine urn
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