Word: ceaselessly
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...past each small shop closed for the heat, closed for the honor of the man passing. This little, scorching town, which a day before had seemed pathetic in its wasting chivalry, a scene of immense yet circumscribed desolation irreparably wounded by the humiliation of war, now seemed still more ceaseless as the funeral cortege stepped its measured steps along the street among friends. Each face, as it aligned with the four white horses, was imperceptibly transfigured, lightly brushed with luminous gratitude that the man had passed without discomfort. The procession glided to the comforting music of the horses' regularly failing...
Buckskin Drums. The final leg of the journey was to Homa Bay on the shore of steel-gray Lake Victoria; the cortege arrived after nightfall, and the surrounding hills echoed with the ceaseless throb of buckskin drums. Another Requiem Mass was held, celebrated by the African Bishop of Kisii, Maurice Otunga, and throughout the night mourners filed past the casket at the rate of 100 per minute. Finally, the coffin was ferried across the choppy water to Rusinga Island, the ancestral home of Mboya's clan. Outside the family home, Mboya's coffin was placed under a shelter...
...quotation marks around it, reminds him that he is not, after all, native to the generation which minted the phrase. It also hints to his undergraduate audience, or the part of it which uses the words scarcely more gracefully than he, that neither are they. The play is brilliant, ceaseless, and for those too shy, too polite or too slow to answer back, intimidating. More dismaying still are his long silences and gestures of over-anxious assent. These are the times when he is learning a new part, not conversing but understudying, snatching your soul away before you have time...
...been this ceaseless warding off of despair, symbolizing his survival through disasters to which others succumbed, which has given to Ungaretti his remarkable capacity to speak amidst these silences and to shatter the mute world of Europe in the twentieth century...
...Drama Center has always seemed impervious to supernatural meddling. True, one hears stories of the bricklayer who succumbed to aggravated ennui while completing its masonry and was mistakenly immured there in. But there are good reasons to discount the testimony of those who claim to have heard his terrifying, ceaseless yawns. Things have changed, however, and the Much Ado About Nothing which the Harvard Dramatic Club is offering us these evenings gives every indication of a troublesome haunting. This amateur spiritualist, for one, suspects that the production may be infected by restless remnants of last week's faculty meeting...