ellauri079.html on line 113: If Jed Clampett hadn’t done another role in his life he would have still been remembered as Jed Clampett more likely than not. After his time on the show he went on to continue acting here and there but nothing ever really brought him the same kind of fame as he experienced while being Jed. He did manage to get a cameo in the film version of the Beverly Hillbillies but apart from that he was retired at that time and wasn’t doing much at all. He passed away due to respiratory failure in 2003.
ellauri111.html on line 235: “I’ve read about it …” I answered, not wanting to risk offending him any more, though sensing that he did in fact know exactly what I had and hadn’t read.
ellauri111.html on line 239: “Er, no,” I had to admit, slightly confused. Perhaps the whisky hadn’t been such a good idea.
ellauri111.html on line 255: As I’d had to admit, I hadn’t read The Diary of a Writer (actually a kind of journal that Dostoevsky published monthly and that consisted entirely of his own thoughts about issues of the day), but I did know that he had been involved in several criminal cases, some of which were about the kind of cruelty to children that Ivan Karamazov cited as evidence against the existence of God. I couldn’t remember any details, though. I felt rather like a student who hasn’t done his homework hoping that he’s not the one going to be asked the next question. Only there wasn’t anyone else to ask. In the event, Fyodor Mikhailovich let me off fairly gently.
ellauri111.html on line 263: As Fyodor Mikhailovich spoke, he became quite agitated. His face narrowed and his eyes flashed. At first he had just tapped his fingers intermittently on the arms of his chair but as he went on he started to wave his hands around with increasing energy. Whatever he had seen in the world he now inhabited, it was clear that he was still unreconciled to the outrages that adult human beings inflict on children, who, as he had said in The Brothers Karamazov, hadn’t eaten that fatal apple. I didn’t know the details of the cases he was talking about, but I couldn’t help thinking about a particularly horrifying case that had recently happened here in Scotland. I’ll spare you the details.
ellauri159.html on line 789: So what are the defining traits of femininity? Oh-hoho, I’m not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. I´m not THAT brave. It’s taken me years to understand manhood, and I’m still refining my views. I wouldn’t appreciate it if a woman who hadn’t rigorously studied masculinity offered an off-the-cuff definition for it, so I will refrain from doing likewise. Someone should start an awesome Art of Womanliness-type blog and explore the subject. I’ll be a reader.
ellauri162.html on line 778: In 2011, she agreed to debate Christian apologist William Lane Craig, but later pulled out, saying “I hadn’t realised the nature of Mr. Lane Craig’s debating style, and having now looked at his previous performances, this is not my kind of forum.” Chickened out, that´s all.
ellauri164.html on line 879: This interpretation is solidified by Moses’ words about this event in the Book of Deuteronomy. Three times in the first four chapters of Deuteronomy, Moses says that he is not able to enter the Promised Land because of Israel. At first glance, again, this might seem an unfair charge. Moses had caused his own exclusion, hadn’t he? Why is he accusing the generation after the event in Numbers 20 of being the cause of his failure? If we look at these three mentions, we see a few important facts. In the first instance, Deuteronomy 1:37, Moses is recounting the failure of Israel when they listened to the 10 spies’ negative report and how God forbade that generation from entering the Promised Land, and he then says “The Lord was angry with me also on your account, saying, ‘Not even you shall enter there.’” Moses associates his inability to enter the Promised Land with Israel’s rebellion and unfaithfulness, but he also seems to be lumping the people’s refusal to enter the land (Numbers 13-14) with his own sin in Numbers 20. This is not Moses forgetting the chronology of these two events, but rather indicating that they are closely associate with one another.
ellauri284.html on line 610: “I’m sorry I did it; if I hadn’t, I would have a hospital now,” Saxena said.
ellauri392.html on line 411: He hadn’t also murdered the papal legate,
xxx/ellauri103.html on line 268: Regarding identity politics, what’s especially saddened me in my recent career is a trend toward rejecting the advocacy of anyone who does not belong to the group. In 2013, I published Big Brother, a novel that grew out of my loss of my own older brother, who in 2009 died from the complications of morbid obesity. I was moved to write the book not only from grief, but also sympathy of morbid obesity: in the years before his death, as my brother grew heavier, I saw how dreadfully other people treated him – how he would be seated off in a corner of a restaurant, how the staff would roll their eyes at each other after he’d ordered, though he hadn’t requested more food than anyone else. Just a little wafer, is all.
xxx/ellauri103.html on line 272: But in my events to promote Big Brother, like trying to peddle it to my acquaintances, I started to notice a pattern. Most of the people buying the book in the signing queue were thin. Well the whole queue was pretty thin. Especially in the US, fat is now one of those issues where you either have to be one of us, or you’re the enemy. It's like Christianity: who is not for Jesus is against him. We don't know if he was fat, but most likely he was scrawny, he could not even carry his cross. I verified this when I had a long email correspondence with a “Healthy at Any Size” activist, who was incensed by the novel, which she hadn’t even read. Which she refused to read. No amount of explaining that the novel was on her side, that it was a book that was terribly pained by the way heavy people are treated and how unfairly they are judged, could overcome the scrawny author’s photo on the flap.
xxx/ellauri103.html on line 307: I have never walked out of a speech. Or I hadn’t, until last night’s opening keynote for the Brisbane writers festival, delivered by the American author Lionel Shriver, best known for her novel, We need to talk about Kevin.
xxx/ellauri127.html on line 120: In his lifetime, Nabokov received many contrary and often puzzled reviews. The Hollywood producer Robert Evans famously flew to Switzerland in 1968 to read an advance copy of the novel “Ada” in one day. “It was torture,” he recalled. Dwight Macdonald hated “Pale Fire” on behalf of Partisan Review, calling it “unreadable . . . too clever by half . . . Philistine . . . false” — and he hadn’t even finished his first paragraph!
xxx/ellauri127.html on line 126: Rebecca Solnit, for instance, wrote a cringe-inducing and hilarious essay, “Men Explain Lolita to Me,” including these lines: “A nice liberal man came along and explained to me this book was actually an allegory as though I hadn’t thought of that yet. It is, and it’s also a novel about a big old guy violating a spindly child over and over and over. Then she weeps.”
xxx/ellauri127.html on line 138: Plenty of monsters make great art, and many of their names emblazon lists of Nobelists, poet laureates, and so. And there is no doubt that Nabokov created great art, in two languages, like Joseph Conrad, whom he predictably disdained. (“A collection of glorified cliches.”) His achievements speak volumes. If only he hadn’t been such a jerk.
xxx/ellauri218.html on line 467: On Feb. 1, two African-American sanitation workers, Echol Cole and Robert Walker, had been crushed to death in one of the city’s outdated trucks. Memphis had no facilities for Black workers to wash up, change clothes or get out of the rain. Cole and Walker were sheltering from the rain inside the truck’s barrel when the compacting mechanism malfunctioned. The truck hadn’t been repaired because the city wouldn’t spend money for safety for these workers.
xxx/ellauri225.html on line 325: Of course, Le Guin was writing daring stories decades before me, stories of women who loved women, of four-person marriages, of people without gender. Her stories offered possibilities that most of society hadn’t even imagined in the late 1960s; I knew she must have faced similar societal disapproval. So I wanted to know why she faded to black for her sex scenes. “There Arrad took me into his arms and I took Arrad into my arms, and then between my legs, and fell upward, upward through the golden light.” (“Coming of Age in Karhide”) There was plenty of sex in her books – sometimes tremendously important sex — but Le Guin didn’t dwell on the details. In fact her sex scenes were prudish and infinitely boring.
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