ellauri067.html on line 581: From early on, Prokosch sought to surround himself with a veil of mystification and cast his life into a hopeless riddle. Approaching his sixtieth year, he boasted that no person had succeeded in knowing him as an integral personality: "I have spent my life alone, utterly alone, and no biography of me could ever more than scratch the surface. All the facts in Who’s Who, or whatever, are so utterly meaningless. My real life (if I ever dared to write it!) has transpired in darkness, secrecy, fleeting contacts and incommunicable delights, any number of strange picaresque escapades and even crimes, and I don't think that any of my 'friends' have even the faintest notion of what I'm really like or have any idea of what my life has really consisted of. . . .With all the surface 'respectability,' diplomatic and scholarly and illustrious social contacts, my real life has been subversive, anarchic, vicious, lonely, and capricious."
ellauri106.html on line 184: “The comedy is that the real haters of the bourgeois Jews, with the real contempt for their everyday lives, are these complex intellectual giants,” Zuckerman snorts. “They loathe them, and don’t particularly care for the smell of the Jewish proletariat either. All of them full of sympathy suddenly for the ghetto world of their traditional fathers now that the traditional fathers are filed for safekeeping in Beth Moses Memorial Park. When they were alive they wanted to strangle the immigrant bastards to death because they dared to think they could actually be of consequence without ever having read Proust past Swann’s Way. And the ghetto—what the ghetto saw of these guys was their heels: out, out, screaming for air, to write about great Jews like Ralph Waldo Emerson and William Dean Howells. But now that the Weathermen are around, and me and my friends Jerry Rubin and Herbert Marcuse and H. Rap Brown, it’s where oh where’s the inspired orderliness of those good old Hebrew school days? Where’s the linoleum? Where’s Aunt Rose? Where is all the wonderful inflexible patriarchal authority into which they wanted to stick a knife?”
ellauri143.html on line 814: ´Deed dared, we´ll think,´ disgraced shall be.
ellauri160.html on line 52: So bashful that I dared not smile, I never laughed, being bashful.
ellauri188.html on line 413: Josh skipped college to start acting at 19. He dared to dream and got a job as DIY professor at Vanderbilt. Tennessee on Louisianasta luoteeseen. Mekin ajettiin tota hirmu pitkää Baton Rougen bridgeä Nikun isän autossa. Ei sentään tullut myrskyä.
ellauri192.html on line 589: yet no one dared to strike a weapon eikä kukaan tohdi riisua
ellauri220.html on line 89: Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
ellauri247.html on line 436: To question your empire has dared: Ole voinut haastaa sua:
xxx/ellauri086.html on line 802: Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; Kuvittelin kaikenlaista taivaallista sekä maista,
xxx/ellauri103.html on line 220: In his 2009 novel Little Bee, Chris Cleave, who as it happens is participating in this festival, dared to write from the point of view of a 14-year-old Nigerian girl, though he is male, white, and British. I’ll remain neutral on whether he “got away with it” in literary terms, because I haven’t read the book yet. But most likely it is drivel. I love it!
xxx/ellauri125.html on line 791: Hole's performance on August 26, 1994, at the Reading Festival—Love's first public performance following Cobain's death—was described by MTV as "by turns macabre, frightening and inspirational". John Peel wrote in The Guardian that Love's disheveled appearance "would have drawn whistles of astonishment in Bedlam", and that her performance "verged on the heroic ... Love steered her band through a set which dared you to pity either her recent history or that of the band ... the band teetered on the edge of chaos, generating a tension which I cannot remember having felt before from any stage." The band performed a series of riotous concerts over the following year, with Love frequently appearing hysterical onstage, flashing crowds, stage diving, and getting into fights with audience members. One journalist reported that at the band's show in Boston in December 1994: "Love interrupted the music and talked about her deceased husband Kurt Cobain, and also broke out into Tourette syndrome-like rants. The music was great, but the raving was vulgar and offensive, and prompted some of the audience to shout back at her."
xxx/ellauri200.html on line 649: with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build Menninkäisillä ja päivänsäteillä, vaikka kekattais
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