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...anyone here will sign a document saying I am not to blame, I am ready to kill that person without hesitation, drink two bottles of beer afterwards, go to the cinema, and then give myself up to the police." From her small purse Zina Jukova produced a bit of paper and a pencil. Pursing her lips, she wrote. "Draw that long Finnish knife you have, Sergei!" she laughed. "Here is your paper." Trembling, Student Slovochotov drew his knife. The girl, still laughing, unbuttoned her bodice with one hand, threw back her head, and pouted her lips to receive a kiss...
Quite different in spirit from the general tenor of modernity are the songs of Schubert on which Professor Hill will speak in the Music Building at noon today. Certainly they are not works of discords and cacophonies', perhaps they are even a bit over-sentimental. Yet it is a question whether the "Erlkoenig", and the "Serenade" will not still be sung when many of our modern writers are forgotten. For their work in letting in fresh air on an art which had grown somewhat state, the new tendencies must be that in and of themselves they are of themselves they...
...only everything were printable, and if, everything could be photographed, we should arrive at a condition where nothing would shock the moralist and nothing would excite anybody. . . . The purging power of frankness does not fit these spectacles. It may be that when the tabloids have squeezed the last bit of sensation out of the Rhinelander case, for example, their public would then be bored with another spectacle dealing with miscegenation; that after the Browning case their public will for a time be immunized against further interest in the psychopathology of an old lecher. But what is the consequence of that...
...past and the present do not mingle gracefully. The present is too red-blooded. And so we see a dismal parody of Kipling, a delectable burlesque of Oscar Wilde, and a really amusing, if somewhat overdone, page of history with undergraduate notations, push a bit of Chaucer and a rather dull ballad of a questionable source, from the center of the stage. Now Lampy does not snore so loudly. He knows the present best. But Pity of Pities! The clock ticking backwards leads his mind down into chaotic, confused imaginings. We find Diogenes in a humorous vein. Descartes would...
Finally, Lampy has one brilliant vision--Great Caesar's Ghost! It is by far the best and cleverest in the whole magazine. (Fame for the angel who then hovered over Lampy's dull bed.) Next, we should place the bit of sparkling by-play between Boccacio and Shakespeare. Next, we should place the delightful extract from a disciple of Carl Sandburg. From these three elections, you see the present holds the rubber, and Lampy's costume party is not a success...