Wilfrid Sheed
English-born American novelist and essayist.
A deadly streak of passivity of a kind that sometimes goes with perfectionism.
It's the old case against symbols: if you get them, they seem obvious and artificial, and if you don't, you miss the whole point.
Carmichael was, like many Americans, a divided soul, part nomad and part homebody, who seemed a little bit at home everywhere, but was probably more so someplace else, if he could just find it.
Whether or not Big Brother is watching us, we certainly have to watch him, which may be even worse.
As you approach the presidency, no one seems worthy of it, since it wasn't designed for a human in the first place.
How does one make a movie about decadence these days? Now that we're allowed to do it, it's too late.
Of course, history is only a muddle of facts and a fuddle of professors, and anyone who thinks it is one clear voice saying "Arise, sir Knight" deserves a life sentence in Camelot.