In all my researching of Jamestown, he was the only historian of the profuse number that has written about it with the guts to put forward this very logical assumption.
Lots of us bitch and moan, but we play cards and sports, watch TV, eat free food, have people clean up after us, lift weights, listen to music all day, take profuse naps, read and write a lot and get money (masturbate) till the cows come home.
Whether he is writing on the "neuromania" that insists the brain is identical to the mind, or the nature of time, or skewering the improbabilities of Ian McEwan's Saturday, Tallis seems allergic to forms of thought that deny the fine-grained, paradoxical and profuse nature of reality.
Writing in the Yorkshire Post, he proclaimed: "We see everything from the artificially bald with luxuriant beards to the Rastafarian; the lavatory-brush to assorted Mohicans; the effeminate ponytail above designer stubble to flowing locks all tied up with ribbon or string; and the short back and sides with profuse lawns on top in various stages of falling off the scalp.
But not before I hand-wrote letters of profuse apology that were delivered by courier, along with very expensive bottles of their favorite adult beverage.
I could write about how millennials are profuse whingers, surpassed only by non-millennials when you get them on to the topic of those wretched millennials.
For example, Barabási [28] writes that preferential attachment is network science's "most profuse concept," and that "the impact of preferential attachment is hard to miss".
By and large, Careless People serves as an entertaining summary of the profuse scholarship on Gatsby, showing how much life, news and reading Fitzgerald mined to write the book – the "beautiful and simple and intricately patterned" novel that he was already planning when he arrived in Great Neck.
There are two sides to modernism: the profuse and the abstemious; the quest for the infinite and for the infinitesimal, or (as Paul Ignotus wrote in a memorable study of Maupassant) the deployment of the camera as a telescope or as a microscope.
From tightly polished prose to an unfinished baggy monster: David Foster Wallace's posthumous novel The Pale King, left as a collection of chapters, drafts and memos on his suicide in 2008, has been assembled by his editor into a work whose subject matter, wrote Lasdun again, "is as narrowly focused as that of Infinite Jest was richly profuse.
