Perfect beyond perfection. Either you know what Vaux-le-Vicomte is,in absolute cultural (story of history historical) terms--and in architectural and esthetic terms--or you don't. But those of you who don't, yet, appreciate the vision of Nicholas Fouquet, should maybe begin by reading that delicious letter of Mme. de Sévigné, where she describes, as one of the invitees, Fouquet's fateful, enchanting, mid-Virgo mistake-party. The biggest, or at least the most sensationally beautiful, blow-out of its kind in the history of the world.
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous.
The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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