Word: violet
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Thus in The Colors, the stages of a love affair are portrayed as a psychedelic journey through the spectrum of the rainbow, from red to violet to the annihilation of white. The Birds offers two talking ducks (Curtis and Daffy) trying to fly south through a polluted world; surprisingly, the effect is neither grotesque nor maudlin. Death and the Single Girl revises a page from Woody Allen. An unemployed office worker decides to end it all. Death, an overworked businessman, makes sexual demands in return for his service ("I come and you go"). Failing at that, he offers...
...passions, platonic but deep, were saved for the older women in her life: her sister Vanessa, who became a painter and married Critic Clive Bell; Madge Vaughan, a writer who was married to one of Virginia's cousins; and above all Violet Dickinson, an aristocratic spinster who was part intimate confidante, part sponsor. With Dickinson especially, Virginia tended to lapse into repellent pet names and quasi-erotic baby talk ("I feel myself curled up snugly in old mother wallaby's pouch. Is mother wallaby soft and tender to her little one?"). But these women also inspired some...
...HADN'T DIED at 32 a couple of decades before next summer, V.R. Lang would probably still be a townie, and New York would probably still have sucked in an enterprising batch of her friends from Harvard (Lang herself never bothered with college). Violet Lang's family passed their desperate faithfulness to Boston on to her--the city and the decaying four-story brownstone they live in were the only reminders of their genteel past. In line with the family's tradition, she flirted with high society on Beacon Hill and avoided steady jobs. She was also a writer...
...most victims have accepted the inevitable. Mrs. Violet Weldon, 41, whose mother died of the disease that she herself has had for several years, has adjusted to her affliction. "By the time I was told I had the disease, I had already come to the realization that the disease was a part of me," she explains...
...Locust. "The violet hush of twilight was descending over Los Angeles as my hostess, Violet Hush, and I left its suburbs headed toward Hollywood. In the distance a glow of huge piles of burning motion picture scripts lit up the sky. The crisp tang of frying writers and directors whetted my appetite. How good it was to be alive, I thought, inhaling deep lungfuls of carbon monoxide... A suttee was in progress by the road side... Violet and I elbowed our way through the crowd. An enormous funeral pyre composed of thousands of feet of film and scripts drenched with...