Secure in his widowerhood and faithful to the memory of Martha Wayles, not two years dead, Thomas Jefferson had set sail for France in the summer of 1784 as Minister Plenipotentiary to the court of Louis XVI. It may have been that this...
You frame one of his little woodcuts and put it on the wall of your room. It is a group of trees on a windswept hillside, or a winter scene in a barnyard, or a Virginia village street. There it is. Why, you have yourself seen just such...
I feel sure that many thousands of Americans who in common with me have felt fainthearted in the recent past, and have weakened toward other means than those indigenous to us for bringing us out of our miseries, will be greatly heartened by...
The charm, the wonder of D. H. Lawrence is just this—that you take him or you leave him. For you he is or he is not. He’s yours or he isn’t. You have a feeling that he never really cared, not about that. I mean that he never really cared...
For modern blasphemy is merely a department of bad form: and just as, in countries which still possess a Crown, people are usually (and quite rightly) shocked by any public impertinence concerning any member of their Royal Family, they are...
The year of 1932 is ended, with its winter premieres and ventures in production, its spring showings, its continuations of what had proved itself a success or fairly successful, its summer of revivals and fresh experiments in groups, little...
