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Church of Virus BBS   General   Arts & Entertainment   The Assassin's Cloak « previous next » Pages: 1 2 [3] 4 5      Author  Topic: The Assassin's Cloak  (Read 17618 times) Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #30 on: 2010-12-23 09:41:13 » 23 December 1858 Came to Moscow with the children. Didn’t manage to get another mort- gage. Money is needed everywhere. Went bear-hunting. On the 21st — killed one; on the 22nd - was bitten by one. Squandered a pile of money ~ Leo Tolstoy 1911 When I look at my whole way of life going in a direction that is foreign and false to all my relatives and acquaintances, the apprehension arises, and my father expresses it, that I shall become a second Uncle Rudolf; the fool of the new generation of the family, the fool somewhat altered to meet the needs of a different period; but from now on I’ll be able to feel how my mother (whose opposition to this opinion grows continually weaker in the course of the years) sums up and enforces everything that speaks for me and against Uncle Rudolf, and that enters like a wedge between the conceptions entertained about the two of us. ~ Franz Kafka 1914 [Red Cross volunteer] Yesterday I motored into Dunkirk, and did a lot of shopping. By accident our motor-car went back to Furnes without me, and there was not a bed to be had in Dunkirk! After many vicissitudes I met Captain Whiting, who gave up his room in his own house to me, and slept at the club. I was in clover for once, and nearly wept when I found my boots brushed and hot water at my door. It was so like home again. I was leaving the station to-day when shelling began again. One shell dropped not far behind the bridge, which I had just crossed, and wrecked a house. Another fell into a boat on the canal and wounded the occupants badly. I went to tell the Belgian Sister not to go down to the station, and I lunched at their house, and then went home till the evening work began. People are always telling one that danger is now over - a hidden gun has been discovered and captured, and there will be no more shelling. Quel blague! [What a joke!] The shelling goes on just the same whether hidden guns are captured or not. I can’t say at present when I shall get home, because no one ever knows what is going to happen. I don’t quite know who would take my place at the soup-kitchen if I were to leave. ~ Sarah Macnaughtan 1946 The presence of my children affects me with deep weariness and depression. I do not see them until luncheon, as I have my breakfast alone in the library, and they are in fact well trained to avoid my part of the house; but I am aware of them from the moment I wake. Luncheon is very painful. Teresa has a mincing habit of speech and a pert, humourless style of wit; Bron is clumsy and disheveled, sly, without intellectual, aesthetic or spiritual inter- est; Margaret is pretty and below the age of reason. In the nursery whoop- ing cough rages I believe. At tea I meet the three elder children again and they usurp the drawing-room until it is time to dress for dinner. I used to take some pleasure in inventing legends for them about Basil Bennett, Dr Bedlam and the Sebag-Montefiores. But now they think it ingenious to squeal: “It isn’t true". I taught them the game of draughts for which they show no aptitude. ~ Evelyn Waugh Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #31 on: 2010-12-24 10:11:09 » 24 December 1868 Ouida [Louise de la Ramée], in green silk, sinister clever face, hair down, small hands and feet, voice like a carving knife. At dinner puns and jokes; Ouida silentish. The ladies go to the drawing-room, upstairs, and when after an interval we follow them we hear, before the door opens, a voice going on inside like a saw and on entering find Ouida saying in loud harsh tones -‘Women are ungenerous, cruel, pitiless’ Planché, taking refuge on an ottoman with a face expressing humorous alarm, ‘God bless my soul! I think they’re angels - I adore them - they’re the best half of the world.’ Ouida, with severity - “I entirely disagree. The woman nearly always leads the man astray,’ etc. etc. ‘Woman can’t be impersonal.’ Ouida departs, after inviting Planché and me to visit her at the Langham Hotel, where she is biding at present with her Mother and an immense Dog. She carries a portrait of the latter round her neck in a locket, which she detached after dinner and handed round for inspection, with the remark, “This is my hero’ (perhaps the hero of one of her books). She asked some- body present, ‘Have you read my last book?’ - ‘Not yet.’ ‘But you must read it, you know!’ She said she had found America ‘a mine of wealth’ to her, in the payments for her novels. ~ William Allingham I905 The Caledonian dinner was a glorious and enjoyable function. I went as Guy Charteris’ guest. The C. is a club for Scotchmen, and the enthusiasts turn up in kilts and sporrans. The performance consists in a dinner where one eats haggis, a noisome dish to look at, but not unpleasant to eat, and drinks  Athol Brose, a delicious drink, but insidious, composed of whisky honey cream and rum. Aferwards we danced - a dangerous game, but full of interest. John Gore and I were knocked backwards into the fireplace. ~ Sir Alan "Tommy’ Lascelles 1954 [Jamaica] Oh how nice it would be, just for today and tomorrow to be a little boy of five instead of an ageing playwright of fifty—five and look forward to all the high jinks with passionate excitement and be given a clockwork train with a full set of rails and a tunnel. However, it is no use repining. As things are, drink will take the place of parlour games and we shall all pull crackers and probably enjoy ourselves enough to warrant at least some of the god-damned fuss. The news from home is mainly concerned with disaster, floods and gales and houses collapsing. I am very lucky to be here in the warmth and so I will crush down the embittered nausea which the festive season arouses in me and plunge into gaiety with an adolescent whoop. ~ Noél Coward 1980 Christmas Eve party at the [Sir Claus] Mosers - more literary than musical in membership — but many old friends. Start a promising conversation with handsome stranger who stops in mid-sentence. ‘Excuse me,’ she says, ‘but do you mind if I take off your glasses and clean them? ‘Take some time to regain confidence after this - or should I take it as a compliment? ~ Sir Hugh Casson I987 Christmas Eve. I’ve got &700,000 in my Abbey National Crazy-High-Interest account. But what’s the use: Ash, ash, all is ash. Lay not up for thyself treas- ures on earth. The cars are all getting streaked and rust-spotted, the books foxed, the furniture dusty The window panes, all 51,000 of them are revolt- ing, so greasily blotched. Translucent only and there is moth everywhere. My grandfather’s great Rothschild coat, bought in Wien in 1906, is terminally degraded . . .The whole thing is out of control. And why? I know why. Because I’m not rich enough to have servants. We have to do everything ourselves, and we just haven’t got the time, and things get neglected. This morning, rummaging up in the archive room I found the old Wages Book for 1960. That was the year James was born, and we bought our first new car, a dear little red Mini. It was the cheapo model with cloth seats, and we saved a further three pounds and ten shillings by hand-painting the registration numbers ourselves. Total cost ‘0n the road’ was &460. The total wage bill, per week, for the seven servants who worked at the ` Castle [Saltwood], was thirty-two pounds and five shillings. MacTaggart, a clumsy fellow who had such ugly hands that my mother always made him wear white gloves when he was waiting at table, and who crashed my father’s Bentley in circs that will never wholly be explained, in Lee Green, got &12 per week and occupancy of the Lodge. Everything has decimal points -to the right - or worse. I’m bust, virtually. ~ Alan Clark Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #32 on: 2010-12-25 16:49:36 » 25 December 1860 How different are men and women, e.g. in respect to the adornment of their heads! Do you ever see an old or jammed bonnet on the head of a woman . at a public meeting? But look at any assembly of men with their hats on; how large a proportion of the hats will be old, weatherbeaten, and indented, but I think so much the more picturesque and interesting! One farmer rides by my door in a hat which it does me good to see, there is so much char- acter in it, - so much independence to begin with, and then affection for his old friends, etc., etc. I should not wonder if there were lichens on it. Think of painting a hero in a brand-new hat! The chief recommendation of the Kossuth hat is that it looks old to start with, and almost as good as new to end with. Indeed, it is generally conceded that a man does not look the worse for a somewhat dilapidated hat. But go to a lyceum and look at the bonnets and various other headgear of the women and girls, - who, by the way keep their hats on, it being too dangerous and expensive to take them off! Why every one looks as fragile as a butterfly’s wings, having just come out of a bandbox, - as it will go into a bandbox again when the lyceum is over. Men wear their hats for use; women theirs for ornament. I have seen the greatest philosopher in the town with what the traders would call ‘a shocking bad hat’ on, but the woman whose bonnet does not come up to the mark is at best a “bluestocking.’ ~ H. D. Thoreau 1870 As I lay awake praying in the early morning I thought I heard a sound of distant bells. It was an intense frost. I sat down in my bath upon a sheet of thick ice which broke in the middle into large pieces whilst sharp points and jagged edges stuck all round the sides of the tub like chevaux de Hise, not particularly comforting to the naked thighs and loins, for the keen ice cut like broken glass. The ice water stung and scorched like fire. I had to collect the floating pieces of ice and pile them on a chair before I could use the sponge and then I had to thaw the sponge in my hands for it was a mass of ice. The morning was most brilliant. Walked to the Sunday School and the road sparkled with millions of rainbows, the seven colours gleaming in every glittering point of hoar frost. The Church was very cold in spite of two roaring stove fires. ~ Rev. Francis Kilvert 1922. Christmas! All the shoes left in my big granite fireplace were collected this morning by their owners. It was fun to have all these curious, greedy cheer- ful, delighted, surprised people jostling round my bed. We ate the truffle yesterday Exquisite! I had bought a little brown casse- role with a tight-fitting lid. When I lifted the lid we were intoxicated by a dizzyingly heady aroma. It smelt of richness, warmth, celebration, elegance, ie triumph of gluttony! I had stewed this precious thing from Orangini for vo hours over a low heat, shut tightly in with slices of ham, fillet of beef, some good white wine, a vegetable stock and rashers of bacon. My Georges [her husband] ate it slowly, gravely silently -- and went on thanking me for it all day There’s nothing more sincere than the gratitude of a satisfied palate! ~ Liane de Pougy 1924 I have decided to try and grow a moustache because I cannot afford any new clothes for several years and I want to see some changes in myself. Also if I am to be a schoolmaster it will help to impress the urchins with my age. I look so intolerably young now that I have had to give up regular excessive drinking. ~ Evelyn Waugh 1941 This must be a specially sad day for many millions of people. ~ Countess of Ranfurly 1942 My first Christmas in Scotland. I had behaved so well for the last few months, and everyone here thought I was such a nice, quiet intellectual little girl - but not any more! We were up at the men’s Mess, and it was fantastic - colossal buffet, unlim- ited booze. I decided to break out and go on a jag. I can`t remember when I got so drunk or felt so exhilarated, except possibly when I went out with my dad. I have an awful feeling l called the CO a stinker - it was one of those religious arguments about whether the popes had mistresses. 602, our international squadron, flew over for the party and parked their Spitfires practically in our backyard. I remember waltzing and eating plum pudding simultaneously, and then being sick in the laurels. A very nice pongo drove me home and wanted to kiss me but I said No, and he said God, what a swine I am trying to take advantage of a gel when she’s tight! ~ Joan Wyndham 1952 The more hairs fall out, the more antennae grow in. journalist: What would you like to see hanging on your Christmas tree? J. C.: Journalists. ~ Jean Cocteau 1963 In the evening to Mags [Maggie Smith]. Same as last time. They gave me v expensive presents & we had the film show & and I left about 11. 30. I had to walk all the way home from Kensington to Baker St. All my loathing of Christmas and Public Holidays poured over me during the walk home. All those groups of ‘merry people’, windows open & awful noise of singing, and daft decorations everywhere & drunks and bad driving and just beneath the surface - the extreme rude bestiality. I suppose my worst fault is the instinctive desire to run away from a mess. Instead of trying to do something about it. Run. Get away No hope of reform, I cry. Away from responsibility for work or people, away from commit- ment, away from affection, away from trouble - away from the community . . . And all the time these stinking performances looming ahead of me. ~ Kenneth Williams 1995 Great morning excitement as the girls open their gifts. A Barbie horse and carriage for Darla that takes me about two hours to put together. I imagine all over the western hemisphere disgruntled unshaven fathers doing the same thing. And then no pissing batteries (but the Indian shop was open). Anthea and I decided to postpone presents for each other, but nonetheless she bought me some gloves, a key-locator (which goes off every time Darla laughs) and a book by the BMA [British Medical Association] about drugs and medi- cines, and I bought her a negative-ionizer/room-perfumer, a book about vita- mins and minerals, and an electric car-perfumer. ~ Brian Eno Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #33 on: 2010-12-26 06:40:11 » 26 December 1851 I observed this afternoon that when Edmund Hosmer came home from sledding wood and unyoked his oxen, they made a business of stretching and scratching themselves with their horns and rubbing against the posts, and licking themselves in those parts which the yoke had prevented their reaching all day. The human way in which they behaved affected me even pathetically. They were too serious to be glad that their day's work was done; they had not spirits enough left for that. They behaved as a tired woodchopper might. This was to me a new phase in the life of the laboring ox. It is painful to think how they may sometimes be overworked. I saw that even the ox could be weary with toil. ~ H. D. Thoreau 1911 It is unpleasant to listen to Father talk with incessant insinuations about the good fortune of people today and especially of his children, about the sufferings he had to endure in his youth. No one denies that for years, as a result of insufficient winter clothing, he had open sores on his legs, that he often went hungry, that when he was only ten he had to push a cart through the villages, even in winter and very early in the morning – but, and this is something he will not understand, these facts, taken together with the further fact that I have not gone through all this, by no means lead to the conclusion that I have been happier than he, that he may pride himself on these sores on his legs, which is something he assumes and asserts from the very beginning, that I cannot appreciate his past sufferings, and that, finally, just because I have not gone through the same sufferings I must be endlessly grateful to him. How gladly I would listen if he would talk on about his youth and parents, but to hear all this in a boastful and quarrelsome tone is torment. Over and over again he claps his hands together: 'Who can understand that today! What do the children know! No one has gone through that! Does a child understand that today!' ~ Franz Kafka 1916 Great adventure! I did a day's nursing at the Winchcomb Hospital from eight to eight. I went in some trepidation, but I hadn't realised the tremendous psychological effect of a uniform. Directly I stepped into the ward I felt an entirely new being – efficient, untiring, and quite unsqueamish – ready to cut off a leg, though generally the mere sight of a hospital makes me feel faint. It's wonderful how right it puts one with the men, too. I feel so shy as a laywoman, but was absolutely at my ease as 'Nurse Asquith'. I loved hearing myself called 'nurse' and would certainly go on with it if I were free. I felt all the disciplined's fear of the Sister and the experienced VA.D., and most terribly anxious to acquit myself well. First I was put down to wash an oilskin table. It looked so clean at first, and appeared dirtier and dirtier under my attentions. Then I washed all the lockers, etc., etc. The morning in my memory is a long blur of mops, taps, brooms, and plates. The unpleasant moments are when one can't find anything to do. One can't bear to stand idle and yet one feels a fool when one ostentatiously attacks a quite irreproachable counterpane. My most serious breach of etiquette was that I spoke to a soldier while the doctor was in the ward. We had a meal of cocoa and toast and butter at 9.30, to which I brought a ravenous appetite. It seemed an eternity to 12.30 when we had our lunch. There really wasn't enough to do. Most of the cases were trench feet – quite raw, a horrible sight. I assisted at the dressing of them, feverishly obeying curt orders. The men were delightful. Made lots of beds after tea, tidied up lockers, etc., etc. Only got tired in the last hour. Got home at 8.30 feeling excited, and wound up, and very well. Far less tired than after an ordinary London day. ~ Lady Cynthia Asquith 1936 This was the first occasion on which Jennie, the new maid, gave me my tea. As she went out, I said: 'Leave the door a little open, Jennie.' Whereupon she piped back cheerily, 'Righto, Willie.' So, yet again, it would seem I retain a semblance of youth sufficient enough to elicit a spontaneous Christian-naming even from 17. Yet the grey is in the hair and the Shakespearean frontal already imminent, and the light and shade of maturity gathering on the face – if youth remains, it is on the mouth: tra-la! even yet the edges curl up. ~ William Soutar 1941 [POW camp] I can safely say that I have never imagined a more miserable Christmas Day. One as a prisoner is possibly a novelty, but the 2nd is indescribable. There is no sign of any Christmas feeling and there is nothing to drink – which we did at least have last year. But I am going too fast. We all in our room rose early – Ted and I for 8.30 Communion Service, the remainder to prepare for a Christmas breakfast. Unfortunately, things didn't go quite planmasig. There were only 2 padres at the Service and at least 500 chaps turned up. With the natural running out of supplies early on, it was soon evident that we shouldn't be finished by Appell [roll call] and would at the same time miss our Christmas breakfast. In fact only about  3/4 of the service was finished. Appell was ages in length due to many being absent and no one knowing who. The little Rittmeister was naturally enough in a bad temper and Ted & I had to sit down after Appell, after the special Christmas breakfast party was over, to what had been left for us – sausage roll and bacon (the treat) now cold, and tea (now cold). I fear I was not feeling seasonably charitable as the day was cold, and the mud deeper than ever. When we went to church in the Dining Hall in the grey light of dawn, you could only see water and mud for miles. In the wash-house it was pitch dark, with scores of officers – and orderlies – falling over one another, feet squelching on the mud-covered concrete floor. 'Peace on earth, goodwill towards men. "Comfort and joy, comfort and joy' etc.All very ironical. No Red X Christmas parcels and run out of tobacco. Our hosts have provided not a drop of drink, but have provided extra rations. Added to this, if you looked like greeting people, they were apt to warn you of the forceful result and the only apparently permissible greetings were `A Good Christmas' or 'A Happy Christmas next year'. Tempers were frayed, as it had blown a hurricane and rained all night and the huts had literally rocked. All told a happy start for a festive day. ~ Captain John Mansel 1945 Marie Teresa and Bron [his children] have arrived; he ingratiating, she covered with little medals and badges, neurotically voluble with the vocabulary of the lower-middle class –'serviette’,’ spare room'. Only on points of theology does she become rational.... We managed to collect a number of trashy and costly toys for the stockings. We had a goose for luncheon and a tasteless plum pudding made for us by Mrs Harper, a bottle of champagne. By keeping the children in bed for long periods we managed to have a tolerable day. My only present, a very welcome one, a box of cigars from Auberon. I have seats for both Bath and Bristol pantomimes. The children leave on the 10th. Meanwhile I have my meals in the library. ~ Evelyn Waugh Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #34 on: 2010-12-30 14:59:28 » [Blunderov] My apologies for the hiatus. Technology issues - now vanquished. 27 December 1928 [Paris] In the evening to a performance of Diaghilev's Ballet at the Opera. Stravinsky's Rossignol and Petruschka. After the performance I was waiting for Diaghilev in the corridor behind the stage when he appeared in the company of a short, haggard youngster wearing a tattered coat. 'Don't you know who he is?' he asked. `No,' I replied, `I really can't call him to mind.' `But it's Nijinsky!' Nijinsky! I was thunderstruck. His face, so often radiant as a young god's, for thousands an imperishable memory, was now grey, hung slackly, and void of expression, only fleetingly lit by a vacuous smile, a momentary gleam as of a flickering flame. Not a word crossed his lips. Diaghilev had hold of him under one arm and, to go down the three flights of stairs, asked me to support him under the other because Nijinsky, who formerly seemed able to leap over roof-tops, now feels his way, uncertainly, anxiously, from step to step. I held him fast, pressed his thin fingers, and tried to encourage him with gentle words. The look he gave me from his great eyes was mindless but infinitely touching, like that of a sick animal. Slowly, laboriously, we descended the three, seemingly endless flights until we came to his car. He had not spoken a word. Numbly he took his place between two women, apparently in charge of him, and Diaghilev kissed him on the brow. He was driven away. No one knew whether Petruschka, once his finest part, had meant anything to him, but Diaghilev said that he was like a child who does not want to leave a theatre. We went to eat in the Restaurant de la Paix but I did not take much part in the talk; I was haunted by this meeting with Nijinsky. A human being who is burned out. Inconceivable, though it is perhaps even less conceivable when a passionate relationship between individuals burns out and only a faint flicker briefly lights the despairing, inert remains. ~ Count Harry Kessler 1929 The newspapers have related: that a friend saw me, contrary to my custom, give fifty centimes to a beggar and heard me whisper, as I leaned toward him: 'Yes, but when will you pay them back?' that a fellow writer (another paper that relates the same absurdity said: an Italian prince), invited to dinner by me, waited in vain for me to call for the bill and was obliged to pay in my stead and to give a tip to the check room, while with clenched teeth, I said: `I can't help it; I am a miser.' that, going to cash a check at the bank and seeing people ahead of me at the cashier's window, I said: `I am Andre Gide and do not like waiting,' such a tone that I was served first. that, caught by the rain at Luna Park, I exclaimed: 'Gosh, it stinks!' assuming a roughneck manner that decidedly did not suit me. Etc. When I am feeling well, this kind of thing has no effect on me; but as soon as I am weak, such hateful tales rise up within me and I suffer to feel such stupidity and hatred aroused against me. I also fear that such details may cling to my image, since I know so well that falsehood is more readily credited than truth. ~ Andre Gide 1953 Met a theatrical agent named Loesser who told me that Maurice Chevalier, for whom he is agent, is worth about $12 million. Chevalier is slightly out of his mind, and is now banned from getting a visa to visit the U.S.A. Winchell takes credit for banning him. What actually caused the trouble between Winchell and Chevalier, and perhaps the visa refusal also, was that some years ago Chevalier was wearing a rather natty, embroidered shirt which Walter admired. Chevalier remarked: 'I'll send you some' ' which he promptly did. However when the shirts arrived, Winchell had to pay duty on them which made him so sore that he immediately wrote a column cussing Chevalier out as a skinflint and he has been panning Chevalier ever since. Thus run the motifs of our great opinion-makers. ~ Drew Pearson 28 December 1801 William, Mary [Hutchinson, later William's wife] and I set off on foot to Keswick. We carried some cold mutton in our pockets, and dined at John Stanley's where they were making Christmas pies. The son shone but it was coldish. We parted from William and later he joined us opposite Sara's rock. He was busy in composition and sat down upon the wall. At John Stanley's we roasted apples in the oven. After we had left there William discovered that he had lost his gloves. He turned back but they were gone. We were tired and had headaches. We rested often. Once William left his Spenser and Mary turned back for it and found it upon the Bank where we had last rested. We reached Greta hall at about half past 6 o'clock. After Tea message came inviting William to sup at the Oak. He went. Met a young man (a predestined Marquis). He spoke to him familiarly of the Lyrical Ballads. He had seen them everywhere and wondered they did not sell. We all went weary to bed. My bowels very bad. ~ Dorothy Wordsworth 1868 In answer to a remark of mine of today Carlyle blazed up — `Write my auto- biography? I would as soon think of cutting my throat with my pen knife when I get back home! The Biographers too! If those gentlemen would let me alone I should be much obliged to them. I would say, as Shakespeare would say to Peter Cunningham, "Sweet Friend, for Jesus' sake forbear.... ~ William Allingham 1914 The year is nearly over. Snow has fallen, and everything is white. It is very cold. I have changed the position of my desk into a corner. Perhaps I shall be able to write far more easily, here. Yes, this is a good place for the desk, because I cannot see out of the stupid window. I am quite private. The lamp stands on one corner and in the corner. Its rays fall on the yellow and green Indian curtain and on the strip of red embroidery. The forlorn wind scarcely breathes. I love to close my eyes a moment and think of the land outside, white under the mingled snow and moonlight – white trees, white fields – the heaps of stones by the roadside white – snow in the furrows. Mon Dieu! How quiet and how patient! If he were to come I could not even hear his footsteps. ~ Katherine Mansfield 1941 Feeling much better, I do a Spectator article on keeping diaries, in which I lay down the rule that one should write down one's diary for one's great-grandson. I think that is a correct rule. The purely private diary becomes too self-centred and morbid. One should have a remote, but not too remote, audience. Harold Nicolson 29 December 1832 At half-past five, went to the theatre. I acted only so-so; my father was a leetle daps les vignes du seigneur [tipsy]. When the play was over, the folk called for us, and we went on: he made them a neat speech, and I nothing but a cross face and three courtesies. How I hate doing this! 'Tis quite enough to exhibit myself to a gaping crowd, when my profession requires that I should do so in a feigned semblance; but to come bobbing and genuflecting on, as me myself, to be clapped and shouted at, and say, 'Thank ye kindly,' is odious. ~ Fanny Kemble 1916 A thorough, thorough thaw with the usual effect on the spirits. I am reading the diary of Marie Bashkirtseff for the first time. It makes this one seem sadly insipid and impersonal. No doubt writing it in the form of a journal prevents it being at all an emotional review of one's life, but I'm sure if I exercised discrimination and only described peaks in my life I should never have the energy to write at all. To write about every day automatically is really far less effort. ~ Lady Cynthia Asquith 1933 Now, in this first lull in the middle of this holiday time, is the moment to write my birthday resume, which should have been written Wednesday 27th. I have finished my twenty years a-growing. I have passed out of my teens. I am no longer visibly adolescent. I may now start a-blossoming. So, though I hate to be growing older, I shall say hurray! hurray! Those painful red-nosed years of 'girlhood's hopes and fears' may no longer be pointed at with allowances when I speak. ~Elizabeth Smart 1966 We all went to the Chapel of Rest. It's a room, bare, white-washed. Muted organ music from a speaker in the corner. The coffin lid propped up against the wall. It said 'Elsie Mary Orton, aged 62 years'. Betty said, 'They've got her age wrong, see. Your mum was 63. YOU should tell them about that. Put in a complaint.' I said, 'Why? It doesn't matter now.' `Well,' said Betty, 'you want it done right, don't you? It's what you pay for.' Mum quite unrecognisable without her glasses. And they'd scraped her hair back from her forehead. She looked fat, old and dead. They'd made up her face. When I asked about this the mortician said, 'Would you say it wasn't discreet then, sir?' I said, `No. It seems all right to me' `We try to give a lifelike impression: he said.Which seems to be a contradiction in terms somehow. I've never seen a corpse before. How cold they are. I felt Mum's hand. Like marble. One hand was pink, the other white. I suppose that was the disease of which she died. The death certificate said, 'Coronary thrombosis, arteriosclerosis and hypertension! Great argument as we left. The undertaker gave Marilyn a small parcel containing the night-gown Mum was wearing when she died. Nobody wanted it. So the undertaker kept it. Not for himself. 'We pass it on to the old folks,' 'he said. 'Many are grateful, you know.' ~ Joe Orton 1975 Afternoon, went to Toledo – left Madrid at three-thirty so by the time we got to Toledo it was almost dark. Last time I was in Toledo, 1935 or 1936, it was a beautiful desolate city with beggars on the steps of the cathedral, a few tourists. It has now been cleared up, a touristic shrine, with arty wrought-iron lamps, brick walls carefully pointed, everywhere evidence of restoration. The cathedral was nearly in darkness, but when we came to the high altar it was a blaze of light; seated in front of it, enthroned, an archbishop, a cardinal or two, bishops, priests, etc., all robed. Then a man pushed forward from the congregation and rearranged the archbishop's mitre – and we realized it was a scene being shot for a film. 1977 Out of my window are acres of vineyards, thick patches of yellow mustard blossoms among the rows of bare vines, blue-purple hills, slate sky, flocks of birds that rise in occasional clouds.The big fig tree looks old and small without its leaves. I am in this Victorian house, like a queen alone in her castle. The children are skiing, Francis is in New York receiving an honorary doctorate. I was thinking about Jackie Kennedy in the White House. How she had to smile and shake hands, go where the Secret Service directed her, be a proper First Lady. Then, after she became a widow, she became visible, the center of international attention. She came into her own, in a way, only after her husband's death. There is part of me that has been waiting for Francis to leave me, or die, so that I can get my life the way I want it. I wonder if I have the guts to get it the way I want it with him in it. ~ Eleanor Coppola 30 December 1836 [NewYork] I went this evening to a party at Mrs. Charles H. Russell's, given in honor of the bride, Mrs William H. Russell. The splendid apartments of this fine house are well adapted to an evening party, and everything was very handsome on this occasion. The home is lighted with gas, and the quantity consumed being greater than common, it gave out suddenly in the midst of a cotillion. 'Darkness overspread the land.' This accident occasioned great merriment to the company, and some embarrassment to the host and hostess, but a fresh supply of gas was obtained, and in a short time the fair dancers were again 'tripping it on the light fantastic toe.' Gas is a handsome light, in a large room like Mr Russell's, on an occasion of this kind, but liable (I should think) at all times to give the company the slip, and illy calculated for the ordinary uses of a family. ~ Philip Hone 1968 Reluctantly go back to work. Why does one always feel so muzzy after a holiday? ~Barbara Castle 1977 I was looking at the pomegranate tree by the pond. There are still some fat pomegranates hanging on the bare branches. They are cracking open with smiling rows of dark red teeth. All along I have been talking about Francis's conflicts, mirroring the conflicts of Willard [character in Apocalypse Now]. The contradictions of the peace-loving U.S.A. making a bloody war. I've been standing back, as if looking through a wide-angle lens, seeing the big picture. Now I have found myself with a close-up lens, seeing the big picture. It brings into focus my contradictions. I am laughing and crying my heart out. How I thought I was the innocent bystander, just recording some snapshots about the making of Apocalypse, as if it didn't pertain to me. I had a belief system that took the world literally. I chose to only see the rational, the literal, and deny the illusion. I believed Francis's words literally. Just like Kay in the last scene of The Godfather. All of the evidence tells her that her husband has had people killed, and when she asks him, he says no, and she believes his words. All the evidence through the years, the little presents, notes, things I would find in Francis's pockets after a trip, the pin sent to him in the Philippines that he wore on his hat as a good luck charm. And when I would ask, I would hear, 'Ellie, she is a friend, she has been a big help to me. Please be nice to her. She feels that you resent her because she once had a crush on me. She is no threat to you: I believed the words, I denied the evidence. I didn't want to see the truth. Now my guts ache, but I feel exhilarated. I am emerging from my tunnel vision. I am in a clearing where I can see more, see the literal and the illusion both at the same time. I am humiliated that my blindness was so obvious, so corny. While I was off taking hip consciousness-raising trips, enlightenment was right there in the `Dear Abby' column. There is a chapter in Gail Sheehy's book Passages on men's life patterns that describes Francis to a T. I'm right there, listed as the 'utilitarian wife,' and there is also the 'adoring young protegee.' My whole personal, gut-wrenching drama is just a common statistic in a $2.50 popular paperback book. It gets me right down out of the clouds. ~ Eleanor Coppola Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #35 on: 2010-12-31 16:49:22 » [Blunderov] A toast: to all my esteemed CoV colleagues and absent friends. Death to the barbarians! 31 December 1654 By Gods special Providence we went not to Church, my wife being now so very neere her time: for my little Bonne Richard now about 2 yeares old as he was fed with broth in the morning, a square but broad and pointed bone of some part of a ract of Mutton, stuck so fast in the Childs Throate and Crosse his Weason, that had certainely chocked him, had not my Wife and I ben at home; for his mayd being alone with him above in the Nurserie, was fallen downe in a swone, when we below (going to prayers) heard an unusual groaning over our head, upon which we went up, and saw them both gasping on the floore, nor had the Wench any power to say what the Child ail'd, or call for any help: At last she sayd, she believed a Crust of bread had choak'd her little Master, and so it almost had, for the eyes and face were s[w]ollen, and clos'd, the Mouth full of froath, and gore, the face black – no Chirurgeon neere: What should we doo?, we cald for drink, power it downe, it returnes againe, the poore babe now neere expiring. I hold its head down, incite it to Vomite, it had no strength, In this dispaire, and my Wife almost as dead as the Child, and neer despaire, that so unknown and sad an accident should take from us so pretty a Child: It pleased God, that on the sudden effort and as it were struggling his last for life, he cast forth a bone ... John Evelyn 1661 I suppose myself to be worth about  &500 clear in the world, and my goods of my house my own, and what is coming to me from Brampton when my father dies, which God defer. My chiefest thought is now to get a good wife for Tom, there being one offered by the Joyces, a cozen of theirs, worth 0200 in ready money. But my greatest trouble is that I have for this last half year been a very great spendthrift in all manner of respects, that I am afeard to cast up my accounts, though I hope I am worth what I say above. But I will cast them up very shortly. I have newly taken a solemn oath about abstaining from plays and wine, which I am resolved to keep according to the letter of the oath which I keep by me. Samuel Pepys 1870 [Siege of Paris, during the Franco-Prussian war] In the streets of Paris, death passes death, the undertaker's waggon drives past the hearse. Outside the Madeleine today I saw three coffins, each covered with a soldier's greatcoat with a wreath of immortelles on top. Out of curiosity I went into Roos's, the English Butcher's shop on the Boulevard Hausmann, where I saw all sorts of weird remains. On the wall, hung in a place of honour, was the skinned trunk of young Pollux, the elephant at the Zoo; and in the midst of nameless meats and unusual horns, a boy was offering some camel's kidneys for sale. The master-butcher was perorating to a group of women: `It's forty francs a pound for the fillet and the trunk ... Yes, forty francs ... You think that's dear? But I assure you I don't know how I'm going to make anything out of it. I was counting on three thousand pounds of meat and he has only yielded two thousand, three hundred ... The feet, you want to know the price of the feet? It's twenty francs ... For the other pieces, it ranges from eight francs to forty ... But let me recommend the black pudding. As you know, the elephant's blood is the richest there is. His heart weighed twenty-five pounds ... And there's onion, ladies, in my black pudding.' I fell back on a couple of larks which I carried off for my lunch tomorrow. The Brothers Goncourt 1899 This year I have written 335,340 words, grand total. 228 articles and stories (including 4 instalments of a serial of 30,000-7,500 words each) have actually been published. Also my book of plays – Polite Farces. I have written six or eight short stories not yet published or sold. Also the greater part of a 5,000-word serial – `Love and Life' for Tillotson, which begins publication about April next year. Also the whole draft (80,000 words) of my Staffordshire novel Anna Tellwright. My total earnings were &592 3s. 1d., of which sum I have yet to receive &72 10s. Arnold Bennett 1931 Of all my years this has been the most unfortunate. Everything has gone wrong. I have lost not only my fortune but much of my reputation. I incurred enmities: the enmity of Beaverbrook; the enmity of the B.B.C. and the Athenaeum Club; the enmity of several stuffies. I left the Evening Standard, I failed in my Election [to Parliament, he lost his deposit as a candidate for the New Party]; I failed over Action. I have been inexpedient throughout. My connection with Tom [Oswald] Mosley has done me harm. I am thought trashy and a little mad. I have been reckless and arrogant. I have been silly. I must recapture my reputation. I must be cautious and more serious. I must not try to do so much, and must endeavour to do what I do with greater depth and application. I must avoid the superficial. Yet in spite of all this – what fun life is! Harold Nicolson 1939 I do not stay to watch the New Year in or the Old Year out. I write this diary at 11.45 and shall not wait. The old year is foul and the new year terrifying. I think, as I go to bed, of Nigel and Ben, Ben and Nigel [his sons]. How stupid life is. Not evil, only stupid. What shall I have to record this time next year? Harold Nicolson 1941 [POW camp] The day has been rather uneventful as far as I am concerned, tho' the Scotsmen are making as much of it as they can. Tonight they start their celebrations at 9.00 and continue till after midnight. Special permission has been granted by the Kommandant for lights out to be put back till 1.00 a.m. A new order came round today saying that as from the 29th no one will be allowed out to the latrines after 10.45 p.m. – back to the delights of the thunderbox! I found an old stick of plug tobacco in a box tonight. This will last me tomorrow, and will see the New Year in. – And, today brought me my 500th letter. Well, let 1941 go to hell. It has certainly been eventful for us. Poland and this place have taken 6 months of it – an incredible thought. I say I'll be home in 1942. Is that absurd optimism? Yes, I suppose it is. 1941 – TAKE A RUNNING JUMP AT YOURSELF. Captain John Mansel 1971 Got a taxi to Gordon & Rona [Jackson]. The house was looking beautiful, with a huge Christmas tree dominating the drawing room, and I suddenly felt so safe there. These are the friends to be really cherished, because even the times when we have had disagreements are all informed by a professional awareness of what we are as actors – I suppose that is why the only really good permanent relationships that work for me are the ones with fellow artists. Gordon played Valse Ultime and Rona & he sang it in French & as usual it enchanted me. When I drank a champagne toast with them to 1972 as Big Ben struck, I just adored them both. They've given me a wonderful present – the Oxford Companion to Eng. Lit.!! Kenneth Williams 1974 I delivered the corrected galley proofs of my diaries to Chatto's and went to Heywood Hill's shop. John Saumarez Smith [bibliophile and managing director of a bookseller's] said, `I hear you are publishing some diaries next year.' I asked him how he possibly knew 'Ah: he said, 'as a shopkeeper I keep my ear to the ground.' He said he hoped the price would not be too high. I told him I had said so to Chatto's in vain, and begged him to tell Norah Smallwood when next he saw her that he thought so too. I think the illustrations should be kept to minimum, and should be of persons rather than buildings. Oh God! Am I making another dreadful mistake? James Lees-Milne 1981 We went to Sonny's [Bono] wedding in Aspen. We finally found the beautiful church and we had to stand, the ceremony was already on, and they were singing beautiful songs, and the preacher finally came on and said, 'I pronounce you, Sonny and Cherie' – he said 'Cherie' instead of 'Susie' – and the whole audience gasped and she said, 'My name isn't Cherie, it's Susie: and the preacher got very upset, he said that he just knew he was going to do that, and then he said a million times, 'Sonny and Susie, Sonny and Susie' till the end of the ceremony. They had lighted candles and Chastity [daughter of Sonny and Cher] was the flower girl, she was kind of tall. And it was really beautiful, it was snowing outside and everybody had candles and Susie was all in white and Sonny was crying. We were invited to the party for Sonny but we went off to one of the halls to a NewYear's Eve party instead. Andy Warhol 1986 Day one of being a Lord. Am enjoying it. The Times New Year's Honours List has a large headline, 'Life Peerage Goes to Woodrow Wyatt at head of Varied Field', and I am the first photograph. On the front page they refer to me as the Times columnist (there is no mention of News of the World). A telegram from the Duke of Edinburgh: 'Many congratulations on your well deserved honour.  Philip. 'A letter by hand from Arnold Weinstock, a long one in his own handwriting. Never knew him write such a long one before. Says the main advantage of being a Lord is the free stationery, offset by the disgusting food one is obliged to eat there [the House of Lords]. Charming letter by hand from the editor of the News of the World saying he is sure it's entirely due to my column, and can they arrange for the logo at the head of my column to carry a picture of me in robes and coronet, photographed by, of course, Lord [Patrick] Lichfield. The BBC news ring up with what they describe as a very embarrassing call. They have to disinvite me from appearing on the TV News at One because they say their space is being cut. It wasn't of course; it is because of the vendetta conducted against me by Alasdair Milne [BBC Director General] for daring to complain privately and publicly about the lack of impartiality and slipping standards of the BBC. I point this out in answer to a nice letter I had yesterday from Duke Hussey [Chairman of the BBC]. I told him I was not asked to any function during the Jubilee celebrations of the BBC though Richard Dimbleby and I were the founder members of Panorama; that a few months back I was asked to take part live in celebration shows they put on to talk about being a foreign correspondent for Panorama and that ten days or so later I was disinvited as I knew I would be. I asked Duke Hussey when he has time and inclination to enquire when if ever they are going to take me off the BBC black list. I told him I used to appear quite often on Any Questions and after I made an appearance on Question Time Robin Day said it was one of the best ever but I was never asked again. Duke Hussey says he is trying to get across the point about the facts being quite separate from the comment and that BBC correspondents have no right to editorialise, nor do commentators, but it is clearly up-hill work. Bernard Levin sends a letter round by hand addressed to the Baron Wyatt of Wyatt (in the County of Wyatt). 'Good Lord! You may be a peer of the realm to others but you will always be WW to me. Congratulations. Love, Bernard (Mr).' James [Lord] Hanson apparently sitting in Palm Springs has delivered to me by hand a fax copy of a letter to me of congratulations. His envelope and writing paper has his crest and a little coronet on top. Quite elegant. Should I do the same? Woodrow Wyatt Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #36 on: 2011-01-01 15:53:52 » 1 January 1662 Waking this morning out of my sleep on a sudden, I did with my elbow hit my wife a great blow over her face and nose, which waked her with pain, at which I was sorry, and to sleep again. ~ Samuel Pepys 1763 I went to Louisa at one. 'Madam, I have been thinking seriously. "Well, Sir, I hope you are of my way of thinking: `I hope, Madam, you are of mine. I have considered this matter most seriously. The week is now elapsed, and I hope you will not be so cruel as to keep me in misery.' (I then began to take some liberties.) 'Nay, Sir – now – but do consider–''Ah, Madam!' Nay, but you are an encroaching creature!' (Upon this I advanced to the greatest freedom by a sweet elevation of the charming petticoat.) 'Good heaven, Sir! "Madam, I cannot help it. I adore you. Do you like me?' (She answered me with a warm kiss, and pressing me to her bosom, sighed, `O Mr Boswell!') 'But, my dear Madam! Permit me, I beseech you. "Lord Sir, the people may come in. `How then can I be happy? What time? Do tell me. "Why, Sir, on Sunday afternoon my landlady, of whom I am most afraid, goes to church, so you may come here a little after three.' 'Madam, I thank you a thousand times.' ~James Boswell 1829 Having omitted to carry on my diary for two or three days, I lost heart to make it up, and left it unfilld for many a month and day. During this period nothing has happend worth particular notice. The same occupations, the same amusements, the same occasional alterations of spirits, gay or depressd, the same absence of all sensible or rational cause for the one or the other – I half grieve to take up my pen, and doubt if it is worth while to record such an infinite quantity of nothing. But hang it! I hate to be beat so here goes for better behaviour. ~ Sir Walter Scott 1866 Travelling in France, it is a misfortune to be a Frenchman. The wing of the chicken at a table d'hôte always goes to the Englishman. He is the only person the waiter serves. Why is this? Because the Englishman does not look upon the waiter as a man, and any servant who feels that he is being regarded as a human being despises the person considering him in that light. ~ The Brothers Goncourt 1902 What I have to write today is terribly sad. I called on Gustav – in the afternoon we were alone in his room. He gave me his body – & I let him touch me with his hand. Stiff and upright stood his vigour. He carried me to the sofa, laid me gently down and swung himself over me. Then – just as I felt him penetrate, he lost all strength. He laid his head on my breast, shattered – and almost wept for shame. Distraught as I was, I comforted him. We drove home, dismayed and dejected. He grew a little more cheerful. Then I broke down, had to weep, weep on his breast. What if he were to lose – that! My poor, poor, husband! I can scarcely say how irritating it all was. First his intimate caresses, so close – and then no satisfaction. Words cannot express what I today have undeservedly suffered, and then to observe his torment – his unbelievable torment! My beloved! ~ Alma Mahler-Werfel 1914 What a vile little diary! But I am determined to keep it this year. ~ Katherine Mansfield 1915 We were kept awake last night by New Year Bells. At first I thought they were ringing for a victory. ~ Virginia Woolf 1970 [Ardnamurchan, Scotland] As I was up long before the other members of the household I carried out the old ritual of going out by the back door, and bringing in a lump of coal by the front door. After that I did my usual daily stint of lighting the fire and making their morning tea for the sleepers! Some showers before daylight. Forenoon damp with intermittent smirr and hill fog. Wind Westerly, light to moderate, at first but veered Northwesterly in the evening. Showers from mid-day onwards. Afternoon and evening raw and cold. No sunshine. Apart from [his wife] Eliz's illness, the year just ended was a good one for us in every way. No post tonight. ~ Ian Maclean 1983 New Year's Day These are my New Year resolutions: 1. I will revise for my '0' levels at least two hours a night. 2. I will stop using my mother's Buff-Puff to clean the bath. 3. I will buy a suede brush for my coat. 4. I will stop thinking erotic thoughts during school hours. 5. I will oil my bike once a week. 6. I will try to like Bert Baxter again. 7. I will pay my library fines (88 pence) and rejoin the library. 8. I will get my mother and father together again. 9. I will cancel the Beano. ~ Adrian Mole Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #37 on: 2011-01-02 01:37:38 » 2  January 1763 I got dinner to be at two, and at three I hastened to my charmer. Here a little speculation on the human mind may well come in. For here was I, a young man full of vigour and vivacity, the favourite lover of a handsome, actress and going to enjoy the full possession of my warmest wishes. And yet melancholy threw a cloud over my mind. I could relish nothing. I felt dispirited and languid. I approached Louisa with a kind of an uneasy tremor. I sat down. I toyed with her. Yet I was not inspired by Venus. I felt rather a delicate sensation of love than a violent amorous inclination for her. I was very miserable. I thought myself feeble as a gallant, although I had experienced the reverse many a time. Louisa knew not my powers. She might imagine me impotent. I sweated with anxiety, which made me worse. She behaved extremely well; did not seem to remember the occasion of our meeting at all. I told her I was very dull. Said she, 'People cannot always command their spirits: The time of church was almost elapsed when I began to feel that I was still a man. I fanned the flame by pressing her alabaster breasts and kissing her delicious lips. I then barred the door of her dining-room, led her all fluttering into her bedchamber, and was just making a triumphal entry when we heard her landlady coming up. 'O Fortune why did it happen thus?' would have been the exclamation of a Roman bard. We were stopped most suddenly and cruelly from the fruition of each other. She ran out and stopped the landlady from coming up. Then returned to me in the dining-room. We fell into each other's arms, sighing and panting, 'O dear, how hard this is' `O Madam see what you can contrive for me. "Lord, Sir, I am so frightened. Her brother then came in. I recollected that I had been at no place of worship today. I begged pardon for a little and went to Church . . . I heard a few prayers then returned and drank tea ... I went home at seven. I was unhappy at being prevented from the completion of my wishes, and yet I thought that I had saved my credit for prowess, that I might through anxiety have not acted a vigorous part; and that we might contrive a meeting where I could love with ease and freedom. ~ James Boswell 1926 I went to tea at Sumner Place and we went on to dinner at a new restaurant called Favas which Richard has discovered which is very cheap indeed. I gave Richard the ties I had bought in Paris. I enjoyed the evening very much. On Sunday I was bored. On Monday I went to luncheon at Sumner Place and to a cinema in Shaftesbury Avenue to see the new Harold Lloyd film. Richard found an harlot who took us to drink at a club called John's in Gerard Street where there was a slot machine which gave me a lot of money and Alfred Duggan who gave me a lot of brandy. We went to dinner again at Favas with Anthony Russell. He brought me back and I made him drunk. ~ Evelyn Waugh 1926 [Paris] Talk turned largely on mutual acquaintances: Diaghilev, Cocteau, Radiguet. When I spoke about the Russian Ballet's miraculous salvation and rejuvenation through war and revolution, Misia told us how badly off Diaghilev had been during the war. In Spain he nearly starved. It took months before the French Government granted him an entry permit, but at last Sert was able to fetch him from Barcelona. On the way to the frontier he asked Diaghilev whether he had anything compromising on him. No, nothing at all, he never carried anything compromising on him. Well, at any rate look whether you haven't anything in your pockets, Sert urged him. Only a few old letters. Yes, but what letters? Finally Diaghilev brought out a fat wad of papers, including two letters from Mata Hari. The French had just arrested her for espionage. There was barely time to destroy the correspondence before they reached the frontier. ~ Count Harry Kessler 1952 After tea I went to visit Y-halid's surgery, where he treats the poor of Baghdad for free – a really horrifying experience which I could hardly bear to watch. Half the men were suffering from stab wounds and broken heads, but there were also wretched women with ulcerous breasts and babies with rickets. Khalil was examining a woman who had some problem with her womb when her mother burst in screaming and shouting and dragged her out of the surgery. Apparently because the operation might mean she could bear no more sons, it was forbidden, so she will probably die in childbirth. Maurice's students at the college are much more emancipated. They arrive shrouded in black abbas which they throw off to reveal tight-fitting skirts and sweaters with 'Wisconsin' printed on them. All the girls are in love with Mo because he is tall and blond. Unfortunately he has an awful habit of scratching his crotch when carried away by his own eloquence, and halfway through a lecture on Chaucer he'll notice fifty pairs of beady eyes glued to his trousers. Their work is excellent but erratic as they have a great desire to be colloquial – a splendid analysis of Hamlet's Act 1 will be followed by `Well cheerio, so long, old sport – see you in Act 2!' ~ Joan Wyndham 1966 Went out and got the papers. The usual load of rubbish, apart from an interesting piece by Philip Toynbee on the boring pointlessness of the writing of Beckett and Burroughs. He should have cast his net wider, to include Osborne. He made the point that this kind of writing treats of despair despairingly. He rightly says that this is a fundamental misconception of Art. ~ Kenneth Williams 1978 [in Barlinnie Prison] 3.14am. I've been wakened for over an hour, am irritable and restless. The Radio Clyde disc jockey is speaking to people in their homes via telephone. I get the atmosphere of home parties from it. Pop music is blasting in my ears and I marvel at radio and how it must comfort lonely people. It's almost as though it's reassuring me I'm not alone. 3.55am. One of these days I won't be `still here'. It's amazing how difficult I find it to think of myself being anywhere else. ~ Jimmy Boyle 1990 I seem to be the only Western playwright not personally acquainted with the new President of Czechoslovakia [Viclav Havel]. I envy him though. What a relief to find oneself head of state and not have to write plays but just make history. And no Czechoslovak equivalent of Charles Osborne snapping at your ankles complaining that the history you're making falls between every possible stool, or some Prague Steven Berkoff snarling that it's not the kind of history that's worth making anyway. I wonder whether Havel has lots of uncompleted dissident plays. To put them on now would be somehow inappropriate. Still, he could write a play about it. ~ Alan Bennett Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #38 on: 2011-01-03 15:43:25 » 3  January 1853 I love Nature partly because she is not man, but a retreat from him. None of his institutions control or pervade her. There a different kind of right prevails. In her midst I can be glad with an entire gladness. If this world were all man, I could not stretch myself, I should lose all hope. He is constraint, she is freedom to me. He makes me wish for another world. She makes me content with this. ~ H. D. Thoreau 1870 I went to see old Isaac Giles. He lamented the loss of his famous old pear tree. He told me he was nearly 80 and remembered seeing the Scots Greys passing through Chippenham on their way to Waterloo. They looked very much down, he said, for they knew where they were going. ~ Rev. Francis Kilvert 1902 Bliss and rapture. ~ Alma Mahler-Werfel 1915 It is strange how old traditions, so long buried as one thinks, suddenly crop up again. At Hyde Park Gate we used to set apart Sunday morning for cleaning the table silver. Here I find myself keeping Sunday morning for odd jobs – typewriting it was today – and tidying the room – and doing accounts which are very complicated this week. I have three little bags of coppers, which each owe the other something. We went to a concert at the Queen's Hall, in the afternoon. Considering that my ears have been pure of music for some weeks, I think patriotism is a base emotion. By this I mean that  they played a National Anthem and a hymn, and all could feel was the entire absence of emotion in myself and everyone else. If the British spoke openly about WC's, and copulation, then they might be stirred by universal emotions. As it is, an appeal to feel together is hopelessly muddled by intervening greatcoats and fur coats. I begin to loathe my kind, principally from looking at their faces in the tube. Really, raw red beef and silver herrings give me more pleasure to look upon. ~ Virginia Woolf 1932 On my way back to Missouri I stopped in St Louis and I saw my first bread line – 200 starving men forming a gray line as they waited for food. The sight of them disturbed me. ~ Edward Robb Ellis 1940 James Thurber of the New Yorker is in Baltimore this week, revising a play. It is being performed at the Maryland theatre, and apparently needs considerable rewriting. Paul Patterson entertained Thurber at the Sun office yesterday, and I had a chance to talk with him. He was full of curious stuff about Ross, editor of the New Yorker. He said that Ross never reads anything except New Yorker manuscripts. His library consists of three books. One is Mark Twain's 'Life on the Mississippi'; the second is a book by a man named Spencer, falsely assumed by Ross to be Herbert Spencer, and the third is a treatise on the migration of eels. Despite this avoidance of reading Ross is a first-rate editor. More than once, standing out against the advice of all of his staff, he has proved ultimately that he was right. Thurber said that he is a philistine in all the other arts. He regards painting as a kind of lunacy, and music as almost immoral. ~ H. L. Mencken 1973 It has been nearly three weeks since I last wrote in this diary. At Christmas time the world goes dead and this now extends into the New Year. Ireland remains as violent as ever; we continue to offer the other cheek to Uganda and Iceland; labour relations have been relatively quiet over the holidays, the Vietnam war is on again, off again; Nixon begins his new term of office with an appalling world press; the newspapers, of course, are filled with our joining the European Community. I supported this cause in the Daily Mirror, long before other newspapers or Macmillan took it up. I still think it is not the best policy, but it is the only one, and the antics of Wilson and the Labour party are contemptible. But is it not mistimed? All European countries are faced with uncontrolled inflation and, as well, we have many problems unsolved from Ireland to labour relations, Italy is hanging on the edge of civil war and France is not all that much better. May we not have signed the Treaty of Rome just before the collapse? Official comment is so widely optimistic on every subject that it is hard to judge what is really happening. We even have a new doctrine that optimism is a patriotic duty – criticism or even cautious comment are little better than sabotage. And in the meanwhile every problem is to be settled by negotiation and goodwill. No one must actually stand firm on anything – except in a demand for more money. ~ Cecil King Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #39 on: 2011-01-04 06:48:13 » 4  January 1664 To the Tennis Court and there saw the King play at Tennis, and others; but to see how the King's play was extolled without any cause at all was a loathsome sight, though sometimes indeed he did play very well and deserved to be commended; but such open flattery is beastly. ~ Samuel Pepys 1848 Such a beautiful day, that one felt quite confused how to make the most of it, and accordingly frittered it away. ~ Caroline Fox 1902 Rapture without end. ~Alma Mahler-Werfel 1903 [Discovery expedition to Antarctica] Epiphany Sunday. Good juicy brown beef dripping is one thing I long for, and a large jugful of fresh creamy milk in Crippetts dairy. Killed another dog today as he was too weak to walk. We turned out at 6 a.m., had breakfast and were on the march by 8.3o a.m. And though the surface was very heavy with ice crystals, soft and deep and smooth, there being no sun to glaze the surface, we did 4 and a half miles by lunch time, when the Captain [Scott] took a sight, but it was too overcast all over the land for me to sketch. We had an hour's rest and then made 3 and a half miles more in the afternoon. We have now only 8 dogs and they are good for no work at all. We camped at 4.30 p.m., when sky cleared over the land, but a cold breeze from the north made sketching impossible. We are all now pulling on foot in finnesko all day, heavy work for 7 hours or more, soft ice crystals with no crust. The sledges go very heavily when there is no sun, but run easily as soon as the sun comes out. I think much on the march of our return to the ship, when we shall I hope, find all our letters waiting for us. Le bon temps viendra. ~ Edward Wilson 1922 The snow is thicker, it clings to the branches like white new-born puppies. ~ Katherine Mansfield 1935 Now that I am growing older and can see young folks isolated from me by a number of years, I am sometimes halted by the thought, when looking on them: `Is it a fact that my own youth ended at 24?' This, of course, is a time when the joys of physical freedom are emphasized, and the pleasures that gather around a home of one's own. And with this emphasis comes the thought that we are but human once, and that to be able to joy in action is a great privilege. The thought, of course, is but fleeting — for it is folly to brood: and has not one known the joy — which is enough; and are there not many who have never known it? ~ William Soutar 1953 I think that people who manifest their love for you, physically, when they know your lack of reciprocation, are abominably selfish. Sooner or later, the relationship must suffer, however noble its beginnings. I must be comparatively under sexed or something for I have never particularly wanted to make physical love to anybody. All this touching and kissing which seems so popular among others passes me by. Denis Goacher knows I'm virgin, and is always saying that I make up for it by flirting continually. He says I should do something. He can't believe I could be abnormal. To him, everyone must do something or die! Perhaps I am dead. ~ Kenneth Williams 1958 New year four days gone, along with resolutions of a page a day, describing mood, fatigue, orange peel or color of bathtub water after a week's scrub. Penalty, and escape, both: four pages to catch up. Air lifts, clears. The black yellow-streaked smother of October, November, December, gone and clear New Year's air come — so cold it turns bare shins, ears and cheeks to a bone of ice-ache. Yet sun, lying low on the fresh white paint of the storeroom door, reflecting in the umber-ugly paint coating the floorboards, and shafting a slant on the mauve-rusty rosy lavender rug from the west gable window. Changes: what breaks windows to thin air, blue views, in a smother-box? A red twiny shirt for Christmas: Chinese red with black-line scrolls and oriental green ferns to wear every day against light blue walls. Ted's job chance at teaching just as long and just as much as we need. $i000 or $2000 clear savings for Europe. Vicarious joy at Ted's writing which opens promise for me too: New Yorker's 3rd poem acceptance and a short story for Jack and Jill. 1958: the year I stop teaching and start writing. Ted's faith: don't expect: just write: what? It will take months to get my inner world peopled, and the people moving. How else to do it but plunge out of this safe scheduled time-clock wage-check world into my own voids. Distant planets spin: I dream too much of fame, posturings, a novel into print. But with no job, no money worries, why, the black lid should lift. Look at life with humor: easy to say: things open up: know people: horizons extend ... ~ Sylvia Plath Report to moderator   Logged Fritz Archon Gender: Posts: 1746 Reputation: 8.84 Rate Fritz Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #40 on: 2011-01-04 14:33:35 » Quote from: Blunderov on 2011-01-04 06:48:13    4  January <snip> 1848 Such a beautiful day, that one felt quite confused how to make the most of it, and accordingly frittered it away. ~ Caroline Fox ... 1922 The snow is thicker, it clings to the branches like white new-born puppies. ~ Katherine Mansfield <snip> Love it !!! Cheers Fritz Report to moderator   Logged Where there is the necessary technical skill to move mountains, there is no need for the faith that moves mountains -anon- Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #41 on: 2011-01-05 11:22:54 » 5  January 1821 [Ravenna] Rose late – dull and drooping – the weather dripping and dense. Snow on the ground, and sirocco above in the sky, like yesterday. Roads up to the horse's belly, so that riding (at least for pleasure) is not very feasible. Read the conclusion, for the fiftieth time (I have read all W Scott's novels at least fifty times) of the third series of 'Tales of my Landlord', – grand work – Scotch Fielding, as well as great English poet – wonderful man! I long to get drunk with him. Dined versus six o'the clock. Forgot that there was a plum-pudding, (I have added, lately, eating to my 'family of vices,') and had dined before I knew it. Drank half a bottle of some sort of spirits – probably spirits of wine; for what they call brandy, rum, &c. &c., here is nothing but spirits of wine, coloured accordingly. Did not eat two apples which were placed by way of dessert. Fed the two cats, the hawk, and the tame, (but not tamed) crow. Read Mitford's History of Greece – Xenophon's Retreat of the Ten Thousand. Up to this present moment writing, 6 minutes before eight o' the clock – French hours, not Italian. Hear the carriage – order pistols and great coat, as usual – necessary articles. Weather cold – carriage open, and inhabitants somewhat savage – rather treacherous and highly inflamed by politics. Fine fellows, though, – good materials for a nation. Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people. Clock strikes – going out to make love. Somewhat perilous, but not disagreeable. Memorandum – a new screen put up to-day. It is rather antique, but will do with a little repair. ~ Lord Byron 1918 We went to Hampton Court. We walked across Bushy park, and along a raised bank beneath trees to the river. It was cold, but still. Then we took a tram to Kingston and had tea at Atkinson, where one may have no more than a single bun. Everything is skimped now. Most of the butcher's shops are shut; the only open shop was besieged. You can't buy chocolates, or toffee; flowers cost so much I have to pick leaves instead. We have cards for most foods. The only abundant shop windows are the drapers. Other shops parade tins, or cardboard boxes, doubtless empty. (This is an attempt at the concise, historic style.) I suppose there must be some undisturbed pockets of luxury somewhere still; but the general table is pretty bare. Papers, however, flourish, and by spending sixpence we are supplied with enough to light a week's fires. ~ Virginia Woolf 1940 So far as politics and the war are concerned, everything is quiet as the grave. But Roosevelt has spoken to the House of Representatives. Covert but very malicious jibes against our regime and the Reich. He says he still hopes to keep America out of the war. That sounds anything but hopeful. ... The Russians are making absolutely no progress in Finland. The Red Army really does seem to be of very little military worth. In London there is great outrage about our radio broadcasts in English. Our announcer has been given the nickname 'Lord Haw-Haw'. He is causing talk, and that is already half the battle. The aim in London is to create an equivalent figure for the German service. This would be the best thing that could happen. We should make mincemeat of him. ~ Josef Goebbels 1941 Lunch with the Chisholms. Bridget looked beautiful, pale and slim again, and somehow mysterious, like Mother Earth. We went in to see the baby. It was screaming desperately, in spasms, and plucking frantically at its mouth, as if fighting to express something – and it couldn't, it couldn't. The effort was almost as painful to watch as a death agony. Such a bitter struggle at the beginning of life. Such a superhuman effort: one can't believe that this little wrinkled crimson creature will survive it. But it forces its way, on and on, grimly, into time-consciousness — fighting and resting and fighting again. We stood awed and silent at the foot of the bed, unable to help — till the lady nurse bustled in, exclaiming, 'Isn't he cute? Isn't he? And doesn't he want his milk? I'll say he does!' Then Hugh entered, fresh and dapper from his bath. He looked so ridiculous — the absurd little rooster who had graciously donated his valuable semen for this creative act. Bridget said she'd been told that male sperm and female ovaries can now be introduced into the body of another woman, who will then be able to bear the child. Under these circumstances, the child still inherits everything from its parents, not the foster mother. We imagined a society lady introducing 'Miss Jones — our carrier.' And Miss Jones would refer casually to her clientele: 'Last spring, when I was carrying for the Duchess of Devonshire .. .' ~ Christopher Isherwood 1978 When I got to Halston's the phone was ringing and it was [Ilie] Nastase,  and Bianca [Jagger] told him to come over. He arrived with a boyfriend, just one of his friends, and he was intimidated by the place — Halston was dressing the Disco Queen in a coat he'd made for her that day, and she came down the stairs and Halston was saying, 'Come on Disco Queen.' He talks like baby talk. He didn't put any feathers in her hair this time. I told him he couldn't, that the newspapers wouldn't take her picture if she put one more feather in her hair. And then Nastase's boyfriend decided not to come to Studio 54 with us, and when we got in the limo Halston was yelling at the driver because he couldn't find the black radio station, he said, `What do you mean you don't know where the black station is — you're black, aren't you?' And then the driver said he couldn't see, meaning the radio dial, and Halston said, 'What do you mean you can't see, you're driving, aren't you?' and then he told me that you have to yell at the help or they don't respect you. He has over a hundred people working for him and they're all so terrified of him, they're always asking each other what kind of a mood he's in. And I notice something — Bianca had two blemishes on her face! She's never had a blemish! I guess she's depressed about Mick, discoing the night away. She stays out until 6:oo then gets up for her 8:oo exercise class. ~ Andy Warhol Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #42 on: 2011-01-06 15:28:10 » 6  January 1662. This evening (according to costome) his Majestie opned the Revells of that night, by throwing the Dice himselfe, in the Privy Chamber, where was a table set on purpose, and lost his 100 pounds: the yeare before he won 150 pounds: The Ladys also plaied very deepe.  I came away when the Duke of Ormond had won about 1000 pounds and left them still at passage, Cards etc: at other Tables, both there and at the Groome-porters, observing the wicked folly vanity and monstrous excesse of Passion amongst some loosers, and sorry I am that such a wretched Custome as play to that excesse should be countenanc'd in a Court, which ought to be an example of Virtue to the rest of the kingdome. ~ John Evelyn 1836 A brig called the Agenoria arrived from St. John's bringing 11 men, from the crew of a timber vessel, whom they had picked up in the most forlorn condition. They were capsized on the night of the 3rd [December] in a tremendous storm.  Having cut the lanyards with much difficulty the vessel righted & the crew with the exception of 3 who were drowned, congregated on the quarterdeck. All their provisions were washed overboard & they continued till the 18th enduring the extremity of starvation and misery. On that day they came to the decision of drawing lots for who should die for his comrades & a young man of 19 was the victim. After prayers they cut his throat & drank the blood & devoured a considerable part of the body before it was cold. On the 20th another man being on the point of death, they cut his throat to save the blood & on the 24th another for the same reason. Having finished their horrible meal on that day a sail was discovered by the crew with tears of joy. This was the Agenoria which took them on board. They are now settled 'in the two Poor-Houses & where they are all likely to recover. ~ Barclay Fox 1915 I went to Adenkirke two days ago to establish a soup-kitchen there, as they say that Furnes station is too dangerous. We heard today that the stationmaster at Furnes has been signalling to the enemy, so that is why we have been shelled so punctually. His daughter is engaged to a German. Two of our hospital people noticed that before each bombardment a blue light appeared to flash on the sky. They reported the matter, with the result that the signals were discovered. There has been a lot of shelling again today, and several houses are destroyed. A child of two years is in our hospital with one leg blown off and the other broken. One only hears people spoken of as, 'the man with the abdominal trouble', or 'the one shot through the lungs'. Children know the different aeroplanes by sight, and one little girl, when I ask her for news, gives me a list of the 'obus' (shells) that have arrived, and which have `s'eclate' (burst), and which have not. One says 'Bon soir, pas de obus (Good evening, no shells),' as in English one says, 'Goodnight, sleep well.' ~ Sarah Macnaughtan 1917 I had one of my little dinners and went straight to bed. I am in best looks. Marie Bashkirtseff is always apologetic when she makes a similar entry in her diary, but why should one be? Today I could really pass a great deal of time very happily just looking at myself in the glass. It's extraordinary how one's whole outline seems to alter, as well as complexion and eyes. ~ Lady Cynthia Asquith 1932 [Rome] Spend most of the day reading fascisti pamphlets. They certainly have turned the whole country into an army. From cradle to grave one is cast in the mould of fascismo and there can be no escape. I am much impressed by the efficiency of all this on paper. Yet I wonder how it works in individual lives and shall not feel certain about it until I have lived some time in Italy. It is certainly a socialist experiment in that it destroys individuality. It also destroys liberty. Once a person insists on how you are to think he immediately begins to insist on how you are to behave. I admit that under this system you can attain to a degree of energy and efficiency not reached in our own island. And yet, and yet ...The whole, thing is an inverted pyramid. We meet Signora Sarfatti, a friend of Mussolini whom we met at the Embassy yesterday. A blonde questing woman, daughter of a Venetian Jew who married a Jew in Milan. She helped Mussolini on the Popolo d'Italia, right back in 1914. She is at present his confidante and must be used by him to bring the gossip of Rome to the Villa Torlonia. She says that Mussolini is the greatest worker ever known: he rides in the morning, then a little fencing, then work, and then after dinner he plays the violin to himself. Tom [Oswald Mosley] asks how much sleep he gets. She answers, 'Always nine hours.' I can see Tom doing sums in his head and concluding that on such a time-table Musso cannot be hard-worked at all. Especially as he spends hours on needless interviews. ~ Harold Nicolson 1942 [ Jersey] RAF dropped leaflets early this morning. Laurence found one and Joyce found one in our garden near the bee-hive! They were all written in French. They were not addressed specially to Channel Islanders. German officers were searching the countryside for them but our eyes are sharper than theirs! It is nice to think that our British friends were close to us today. We are not forgotten after all! ~ Nan Le Ruez 1944 My longing for someone to talk to has become so unbearable that I somehow took it into my head to select Peter for this role. On the few occasions when I have gone to Peter's room during the day, I've always thought it was nice and cosy. But Peter's too polite to show someone the door when they're bothering him, so I've never dared to stay long. I've always been afraid he'd think I was a pest. I've been looking for an excuse to linger in his room and get him talking without his noticing, and yesterday I got my chance. Peter, you see, is currently going through a crossword-puzzle craze, and he doesn't do anything else all day. I was helping him, and we soon ended up sitting across from each other at his table, Peter on the chair and me on the divan. It gave me a wonderful feeling when I looked into his dark blue eyes and saw how bashful my unexpected visit made him. I could read his innermost thoughts, and in his face I saw a look of helplessness and uncertainty as to how to behave, and at the same time a flicker of awareness of his masculinity. I saw his shyness, and I melted. I wanted to say, 'Tell me about yourself. Look beneath my chatty exterior.' But I found that it was easier to think up questions than to ask them. . . .That night I lay in bed and cried my eyes out, all the while making sure no one could hear me. The idea that I had to beg Peter for favours was simply revolting. But people will do almost anything to satisfy their longings; take me, for example, I've made up my mind to visit Peter more often, and, somehow, get him to talk to me. You mustn't think I'm in love with Peter, because I'm not. If the van Daans had a daughter instead of a son, I'd have tried to make friends with her. ~ Anne Frank 1953 How impossible it is for me to make regular entries in the diary. I suddenly remember how I used to puzzle over the word at school. Always wondering why diary was so like Dairy and what the connection was. Never found out. Like that label on the bottle of Daddies Sauce – it never stopped. The man on the label was holding a bottle of Daddies Sauce and on the bottle was a label with a man holding a bottle of Daddies Sauce ... ad infinitum ad nauseam for me at any rate. ~ Kenneth Williams 1973 A gathering at the Savoy after the National Theatre's Twelfth Night at the Old Vic. I had a giggle with Norman St John Stevas, an old acquaintance from television and radio panel games, and now Under-Secretary and spokesman for the Arts in the Commons. He is an extraordinary man: irreverent, very funny, very Catholic, and he can sometimes be delightfully indiscreet. I have always felt that his heart is in the right place. We were speaking of the energy of the Prime Minister [Edward Heath] in a very crowded week, which included Fanfare for Europe, Boat Shows, and battling with the TUC and CBI over a wage policy. Norman said that celibacy was a great aid to energy, didn't I find. I said I didn't. He remarked that since he had become a minister, all sexual desire had faded. Celibacy, he said, was the secret of Heath. ~ Peter Hall Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #43 on: 2011-01-07 17:03:51 » 7 January 1833 At half-past five, took coffee, and off to the theatre. The play was Romeo and Juliet; the house was extremely full: they area delightful audience. My Romeo had gotten on a pair of trunk breeches, that looked as if he had borrowed them from some worthy Dutchman of a hundred years ago. Had he worn them in NewYork, I could have understood it as a compliment to the ancestry of that good city; but here, to adopt such a costume in Romeo, was really perfectly unaccountable. They were of a most unhappy choice of colours, too – dull, heavy-looking blue cloth, and offensive crimson satin, all be-puckered, and be-plaited, and be-puffed, till the young man looked like a magical figure growing out of a monstrous, strange-coloured melon, beneath which descended his unfortunate legs, thrust into a, pair of red slippers, for all the world like Grimaldi's legs en costume for clown. The play went off pretty smoothly, except that they broke one man's collarbone, and nearly dislocated a woman's shoulder by flinging the scenery about. My bed was not made in time, and when the scene drew, half a dozen carpenters in patched trowsers and tattered shirt sleeves were discovered smoothing down my pillows and adjusting my draperies! ~ Fanny Kemble 1857 There has never been an age so full of humbug. Humbug everywhere, even in science. For years now the scientists have been promising us every morning a new miracle, a new element, a new metal, guaranteeing to warm us with copper discs immersed in water, to feed us with nothing, to kill us at no expense whatever and on a grand scale, to keep us alive indefinitely, to make iron out of heaven knows what. And all this fantastic scientific humbugging leads to membership 'of the Institut, to decorations, to influence, to stipends, to the respect of serious people. In the meantime the cost of living rises, doubles, trebles; there is a shortage of raw materials; even death makes no progress – as we saw at Sebastopol, where men cut each other to ribbons – and the cheapest goods are still the worst goods in the world. ~  The Brothers Goncourt 1936 Brian Lunn took me to lunch in the Inner Temple. It was like being back at Cambridge. I found him in a little wooden room, reading old divorce briefs. They were pencilled over with comment. The language was not at all bowdlerized. One contained a verbatim report of a telephone conversation a . husband had overheard between his wife and her lover. He claimed that it proved adultery because, in this conversation, she used the same pet name for penis as with him. ~ Malcolm Muggeridge 1969 Dashed home to change hurriedly for the Buckingham Palace reception for the Commonwealth Prime Ministers. It was an awful nuisance having to dress but the only way I could see of meeting my old friends during my frantic 'Week. It was nice to see Indira Gandhi again: I warm to her. She is a pleasant, rather shy and unassuming woman and we exchanged notes about the fun of being at the top in politics. When I asked her whether it was hell being Prime Minister she smiled and said, 'It is a challenge! Oddly enough, I always feel protective towards her. Every group I spoke to greeted me as the first woman Prime Minister to be. I hate this talk. First I'm never going to be PM and, secondly, I don't think I'm clever enough. Only I know the depth of my limitations: it takes all I've got to survive my present job. ~ Barbara Castle 1975 I have received a letter from Martin Gilbert, who is engaged on vol. 5 of Winston Churchill's life. Among Sir Winston's archives he has come upon my name as a guest at Chartwell for four nights in January 1928. Can I give him any recollections of the visit? I have replied that I remember it fairly well. I was terrified of W C., who would come into dinner late, eat his soup aggressively, growl in expostulation at Randolph's cheek, then melt so as to be gallant with the girls and tolerant of the boys: that one night we remained at the dinner table till midnight while W C. gave us a demonstration of how the Battle of Jutland was fought, with decanters and wine glasses in place of ships, while puffing cigar smoke to represent gun smoke. He was like an enthusiastic schoolboy on that occasion. The rest of the visit he was in waders in the lake or building a wall, or pacing backwards and forwards in his upstairs room dictating a book to his secretaries. Thump, thump on the floorboards overhead. ~ James Lees-Milne 1994 Rugged is my favourite word. If I had my way even workmen would wear velvet every day. ~ Ossie Clark 1995 [Brussels] As I got up to leave the restaurant, the crepe chef in the middle of the room gestured urgently to warn me of something. I assumed, 'Careful – this stuff is flambe', and waved to acknowledge. I moved between the tables around him. He cried out again. I realized he was saying 'Serviette!' and that I had it hanging neatly from below my now buttoned jacket – a large, white, triangular codpiece. Everyone looked at me with the patronizing admiration the Europeans show to the absent-minded and/or obsessed. ~ Brian Eno Report to moderator   Logged Blunderov Archon Gender: Posts: 3160 Reputation: 8.90 Rate Blunderov "We think in generalities, we live in details" Re:The Assassin's Cloak « Reply #44 on: 2011-01-09 03:33:44 » 8  January   1849 [Ireland] I don't see that the misery of the country is at all increasing, it is only spreading. None of the lower orders need suffer for an hour, the Poor House is open. They bear a great deal before they will go there, hunger alone drives them into it, so that those who are out however wretched they may look are not as yet in want of food. The upper classes are now suffering, the farmer class a good deal, the landlord class a great deal. Every day we hear of the ruin of additional families, of themselves or their ancestors, yet who managed to live and let live till these unjust poor laws came to overwhelm them. That I have so far escaped is owing entirely to the Honourable East India Company's pay, small though it be, for the little property having but a debt of 4i,000 upon it would yield but a bare 100 Pounds a year for the support of its owner after all the charges on it were paid unless we were to dismiss all the servants and labourers. We are tight enough as it is and must try and lessen our expenditure still. ~ Elizabeth Grant of Rothiemurchus 1934 At Marks and Spencer's I bought a peach-coloured vest and trollies to match with insertions of lace. Disgraceful I know but I can't help choosing my underwear with a view to it being seen. ~ Barbara Pym 1935 I arrived back at Elveden late, cold and hungry. Our guests were all still up but all the fifty servants had gone to bed, and I could get nothing to eat. In spite of that, of all the Iveagh houses I like Elveden. I love its calm, its luxurious Edwardian atmosphere. For a fortnight now I have slept in the King's bed, which both Edward VII and George V have used. And this morning, in the wee small hours, I had a humiliating accident – I somehow smashed the royal chamber pot. It seems a habit of mine, and one much to be discouraged. At Mentmore once, staying with the Roseberys, I broke Napoleon's Pot in similar circumstance, a very grand affair covered with 'N's and Bees. ~  'Chips' Channon 1940 [Berlin] Did a mike interview with General Ernst Udet tonight, but Goring, his boss, censored our script so badly that it wasn't very interesting. I spent most of the day coaching the general on his English, which is none too good. Udet, a likeable fellow, is something of a phenomenon. A professional pilot, who only a few years ago was so broke he toured America as a stunt flyer, performing often in a full-dress suit and a top hat, he is now responsible for the designing and production of Germany's war planes. Though he never had any business experience, he has proved a genius at his job. Next to Goring and General Milch, he is given credit in inner circles here for building up the German air force to what it is today. I could not help thinking tonight that a man like Udet would never be entrusted with such a job in America. He would be considered 'lacking in business experience: 'Also, businessmen, if they knew of his somewhat Bohemian life, would hesitate to trust him with responsibility. And yet in this crazy Nazi system he has done a phenomenal job. Amusing: last night Udet put on a little party at his home, with three generals, napkins slung over their shoulders, presiding over his very considerable bar. There were pretty girls and a great deal of cutting up. Yet these are the men who have made the Luftwaffe the most terrible instrument of its kind in the world. ~ William L. Shirer 1943 Left flat early, bought sour apples and (at Fortnum & Mason's of all places) a head of celery – the last one left, price 1/-, very dirty & I could take it or leave it! Took it, as my object was to procure some vitamins for Stuart. Lunched at the Westway Hotel with Howard Kershner (Director of Relief in Europe for the American Friends' Service Committee) who told me interesting facts about the food situation (including the fact that Churchill & Roosevelt are the persons really responsible & nothing but a large public agitation will move them). He also said that 6,000 Jews escaped to Spain from France, & are now in danger of being sent back to Germany by starving Spain, yet our Gvt. despite all its talk of atrocities will do nothing for them!! ~ Vera Brittain 1970 Cecil Beaton had sent me a card saying come to lunch and that it was to  be just him and 'a load of old women: 'old women' turned out to be Loelia, formerly Duchess of Westminster, now Lady Lindsay, and Lady Hambleden. Cecil was in terrific form: `I just flew in and went straight to the doctor for a couple of injections and slept for a week at Reddish.' Both grandes dames turned out to be highly engaging. Loelia Lindsay particularly so. She had a wonderful eye for changing social mores, recalling the blatant snobbery of the twenties when she was a deb when, if you had danced with a man the night before and had found that he was socially inferior, if you happened to see him the following day you would just look through him. She recalled how once she went out to dinner, and returned explaining to her mother how wonderful the food had been, how delicious in particular the consomme with sherry had tasted. She was never allowed there again. For her first weekend away, her mother insisted that she took gloves up to the elbow to wear in the evening. On descending the staircase with them on she found herself an anachronism, and, taking them swiftly off, tucked them behind a silver-framed portrait of Queen Ena of Spain. ~ Roy Strong 9 January 1821 The lapse of ages changes all things – time – language – the earth – the bounds of the sea – the stars of the sky, and every thing 'about, around, and underneath' man, except man himself,  who has always been and always will be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment. All the discoveries which have yet been made have multiplied little but existence. ~ Lord Byron 1836 I met Captain Gillard, master of the Agenoria, who confirmed all the statement of Capt. G. as far as he was competent. I saw the penknife belonging to Capt. G. with which the 3 men were butchered. I saw sticking to the blade – horrible, horrible! – a piece of human flesh, a relic of their cannibal meal! ~ Barclay Fox 1930 At the table directly opposite us was a rather attractive young couple. Probably a wedding-trip, for the table is covered with flowers. The young man was reading Les Caves du Vatican. This is the first time I have ever happened to  meet someone actually reading me. Occasionally he turned toward me and when I was not looking at him, I felt him staring at me. Most likely he recognized me. Lacretelle kept telling me: 'Go ahead! Tell him who you are. Sign his book for him...: 'In order to do this I should have had to be more certain that he liked the book, in which he remained absorbed even during the meal. But suddenly I saw -him -take a little knife out of his pocket.... Lacretelle was seized with uncontrollable laughter on seeing him slash Les Caves du Vatican. Was he doing so out of exasperation? For a moment I thought so. But no: carefully he cut the binding threads, took out the first few sheets, and handed a whole part of the book that he had already read to his young wife, who immediately plunged into her reading. ~ Andre Gide 1932 Read today that Corot, Degas, Manet, Cezanne were all 'paternal parasites' as regards money – if I can do my share in the Scottish Renaissance perhaps I'll justify my parasitism yet. Up to yourself, my boy, it's up to yourself. ~ William Soutar 1953 On Wednesday we lunched with the PM at Barrie Baruch's. Winston Churchill seems to have shrunk a lot and was very deaf in his left ear, which unfortunately was the side I was on, so conversation was a little difficult. But mentally he was extremely alert, and he had a charming old-world courtliness; he was dressed impeccably in a black suit. His skin is as pink and fresh and unwrinkled as a baby's and he poured some champagne from his glass over the Virginia ham, and dipped the end of his cigar in his brandy. He made a little speech to the Mayor of New York, a slippery ice-creamer from near Palermo called Impelliteri, making a pun which the Mayor failed to see. ~ Cynthia Gladwyn 1958 Jim Egan began at the World Telegram as a messenger boy and now works in our production department. Today he told me an amusing story. In 1940, when Franklin Roosevelt and Wendell Wilkie were vying for the presidency, Jim was sent on an errand to the Herald Tribune. He wore a huge Roosevelt button on his shirt. Going up in the elevator he was seen by Mrs. Helen Rogers Reid, who owned the Trib. Glaring at the Roosevelt button she snapped: 'Why are you wearing that thing?' `Why not?' 'Well don't you know this is a Republican newspaper?' `So what?' `You're fired!' `You can't fire me.' `Why not?' Because I don't work here.' ~ Edward Robb Ellis Report to moderator   Logged Pages: 1 2 [3] 4 5   Jump to:Please select a destination: ----------------------------- General ----------------------------- =>Announcements =>Evolution and Memetics =>FAQ =>Church Doctrine =>Science & Technology =>Society & Culture =>Arts & Entertainment =>Philosophy & Religion =>Humor & Satire =>Creative Endeavors =>Serious Business =>Virian Book Club =>Second Life =>Free For All =>Infections =>Suggestion Box =>Test Area ----------------------------- Mailing List ----------------------------- =>Virus 2006 =>Virus 2005 =>Virus 2004 =>Virus 2003

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