Heine died of the spinal paralysis, presumably syphilitic, that had confined him to what he referred to as his mattress-tomb for his last eight years.
Archaeological evidence for the historical reality of Theseus.
Didier. Férol. Langlois.
The next shot went into a brain which was already dead.
Vicente Huidobro died of a stroke.
Did Ben Jonson have any notion that Drummond of Hawthornden was writing all that down?
Darling, you’ll never guess what happened in the men’s room at the New School for Social Research tonight!
Oh, dear. Not all the way down the inside of your pants leg again?
It is not necessary to have dandruff to be a genius, Puccini said.
I started walking home across the bridge.
Beethoven, Gluck, Schubert, and Brahms are buried in the same Vienna cemetery.
Emerson, Hawthorne, and Thoreau are buried in the same one in Concord.
Isaac Bashevis Singer’s father was a rabbi.
Marc Chagall was the grandson of a shohet.
Braque, an image of Picasso at the moment of Les Demoiselles d’Avignon:
Drinking turpentine and spitting fire.
Writer reminding himself that the Avignon here was a brothel in Barcelona, not the city.
What artists do cannot be called work.
Says Flaubert’s Dictionary of Accepted Ideas.
La Grosse Margot.
The precious, pinchbeck, ultimately often flat prose of Vladimir Nabokov.
The fundamentally uninteresting sum total of his work.
Some dozen years after Berlin Alexanderplatz, living on handouts as a wartime refugee in California, Alfred Doeblin applied for a Guggenheim Fellowship. With a recommendation from Thomas Mann.
Guess.
The friendship of Lorca and Salvador Dali.
It may be for years, and it may be forever.
Or even a polyphonic opera of a kind, if Writer says that too.
André Chénier had published only two poems when he was guillotined.
Skeptic: And can you possibly have read all these walls of books?
Anatole France: Not one tenth of them. I don’t suppose you use your Sèvres china every day?
Gabriele Münter.
Lise Meitner.
Prokofiev died on the same day as Stalin.
Aldous Huxley died on the same day as John F. Kennedy.
Nathanael West died one day after F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Hemingway died one day after Louis-Ferdinand Céline.
West and Fitzgerald had had dinner together one week earlier.
Machado de Assis was an epileptic.
Twice as many baseball batters are hit by a pitch on days when the temperature is in the nineties as when it is in the seventies.
Rousseau was categorically convinced of the existence of vampires.
Gammer Gurton’s Needle.
Goldengrove unleaving.
It took Eliot forty years to allow that the word Jew in Gerontion might be capitalized.
Then Abraham fell upon his face and laughed.
June 16, 1904.
Stephen Dedalus has not had a bath since October 1903.
Transnistria.
Edward Teller lost a foot in a streetcar accident.
Pär Lagerkvist died of a stroke.
Howells and Mark Twain once canceled a dinner they had planned for Maxim Gorky — after discovering that the woman he had sailed from Russia with was not his wife.
Fra Angelico was said not to be able to paint a Christ without weeping.
For the World, I count it not an Inne, but an Hospitall; and a place not to live, but to Dye in.
Says Browne in the Religio Medici.
Cola di Rienzi’s father was a saloonkeeper.
Django Reinhardt spent his childhood in a Gypsy caravan.
And was considerably less than literate.
César Vallejo died of an intestinal infection.
I’ve been reading Cousin Bette. I’ve been reading it all summer. I may never finish.
William Kapell died in a plane crash.
Dinu Lipatti died of lymphogranulomatosis.
Archytas, who invented the baby’s rattle.
Which Aristotle actually takes note of. In Politics VIII 6, 1340b 25–28.
Chekhov died of consumption.
Karl Ditters von Dittersdorf at least once played the violin in a string quartet in which two of the other performers were Mozart and Haydn.
Beaumarchais died of a stroke.
Alain-Fournier was killed in action in France less than two months into World War I.
Protesilaus, in Iliad II. The first Greek to leap from the ships onto Trojan soil.
And the first slain.
Pylaemenes. Who is fatally speared at the collarbone by Menelaus in Iliad V.
And is inadvertently shown alive again in Iliad XIII.
He fell, immortal in a bulletin.
East Tenth Street in Manhattan, Adelina Patti grew up on.
There is no hippopotamus in this lecture room at the present moment.
Lamarck died blind.
And was buried in a pauper’s grave.
Gehenna.
Isaac Newton died of complications from a kidney stone.
Ramanujan died of tuberculosis.
Badges? I don’t have to show you no stinkin’ badges.
One of St. Jerome’s letters to St. Augustine took nine years to be delivered.
Capitoline. Palatine. Aventine. Caelian. Esquiline. Viminal. Quirinal.
What existed before the Big Bang?
Where?
Exclude God from your response.
Camille Pissarro was poverty-stricken for much of his working career.
Alfred Sisley was perhaps worse off, and for longer.
William Goyen died of leukemia.
Fragonard’s The Swing.
Which William Carlos Williams had the impression was Watteau’s.
Plato talked too much, Diogenes said.
While dismissing Socrates as a lunatic altogether.
Erasmus was indisputably the most famous author of his day. Thomas More even admitted to being thrilled that the very fact of their friendship would help keep his own name alive with posterity.
A piece of dreck, Luther on the other hand called him.
I, O Plato, see a table and a cup. But I see no tableness or cupness.
Dickens’ astonishing manic walks. Of as many as twenty-five miles — and at a headlong pace.