In 1914 Max Beerbohm wrote to Vyvyan Holland, the younger son of Oscar and Constance Wilde, on the occasion of Holland's wedding. Beerbohm sent his regrets for not having been able to attend the wedding, together with a present.
It has the advantage of being easily breakable if you don't like it. The glasses are (you will be relieved to hear) of British manufacture, but I can't tell you just when they were made. I asked the old man in the shop to tell me the date of them. Whereat he stroked his chin and, looking at me over his spectacles, said "Well, Sir, what would you say to [...]
The latest installment of Der Spiegel's continuing look back at the fall of the Iron Curtain focuses on Poland and Hungary.
Extremely rich ad man and art collector Charles Saatchi is a wonderful blabbermouth, and he is expert at using his blabber for his own ends. So take this story that he told to the Telegraph about how he insulted the masthead of the Times and they got revenge on him and how it is a wonderful piece of self-image-making.
Twenty years ago this month, N.W.A. were doing good. Songs like "Fuck the Police" and "Gangsta Gangsta" had traveled from the inner-city streets of Southern California to backyard barbecues in white suburban towns. While the group was on a nationwide tour, their album Straight Outta Compton sold its millionth copy. They were making it. But it took the promotional touch of the F.B.I. to really blow them up into megastars.