In offhand, birdsong passing, Marguerite Young observes: “As for the nineteenth century, it may be said that it was probably the leakiest century there ever was and so would remain.” By leaky per
“Does the imagination dwell the most/Upon a woman won or woman lost?” Yeats asked. For most of his readers and biographers, the answer has been clear: a woman lost.
Sooner or later, there would have to be fireworks in Bringing Out the Dead.
To the surprise of historians themselves, history–or at least its public presentation–has become big business.
Begin with a cluster of molecules in the void. The camera zooms away from them, sucking you back through some dim anatomical corridor.
Among his more peculiar views,
He thought all Communists were Jews.
Historians must ponder how
He managed to account for Mao.
What was it like in the sixties, wonders a dewy young woman in The Limey, speaking to Peter Fonda. Who better to ask?
My father disapproved of the “Sensation” show at the Brooklyn Museum of Art. He thought it was bad for the Jews.
The Brooklyn Museum of Art, as if persuaded by its own ill-advised publicity that the art in its “Sensation” show might endanger the welfare of its viewers, at first thought it prudent to turn aw
He’s not dead yet, but the spirit of Ronald Reagan is omnipresent these days, and nowhere is it more damnably profane than in politicians’ relentless invocations of the Almighty.