Or how the father of taxonomy persuaded the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences to organize a hunt for mermaids.
Brilliant, he admits to an “almost delusional level of self-confidence.” Will we pay for his recklessness?
“Haunting” is the first word that comes to mind. The melody’s ghost lingered, changing the very air. The Gymnopédies, a word I now know means “Three Nude Dances,” were indeed bare: simple, vulnerable, tender, wistful, melancholy.
Mary Poppins' umbrella was all about Sufi mysticism, and a Bulgarian umbrella will kill you.
Want to grow old gracefully? Less striving, more love.
Do these people not know that now is now is now is NOW?
How do we stay plugged into a society that is fast losing any moral compass—and keep our own?
I am not sure which would appall my mother more: “dip chiller” to name her receptacle for delicate, extravagant shrimp, or me asking an artificial intelligence to remind me what she taught me.
Cicero: “An enormous house is often a discredit to the owner, if there is an emptiness about the place.”
When I defended likability, I sounded, even to my own ears, naïve.