Sublime

Do you remember Yasukane Matsumoto, the Japanese printing executive? He visits each of his suppliers personally before he decides to build a partnership.

The latest story concerned Hemingway’s knocking a man down for calling him a big fat slob. “You can call me a slob,” Hemingway had said, “but you can’t call me a big fat slob.” Then he struck him down. The natives of Bimini set the incident to music, and if they were sure Hemingway was not within earshot, they would sing in a calypso beat, “The big

Sam found the Montalembert to be its usual charming self. Tucked away off the Rue du Bac, the hotel is small, chic, and friendly. The younger, less grand ladies of the fashion world descend on it each year during the collections. Authors, their agents, and publishers haunt the bar, looking intense over their whisky as they brood about their royalti

Stevenson, who is known for going into jails and prisons and spending hours upon hours sitting with defendants, hearing their stories, affirming their humanity, and offering them dignity.

“The distributor took me every night to dinner at this place where there were only eight tables and no menu. You’d just tell them what you wanted, and they made it. One of the tables was on reserve for the chairman of Fiat.

Nearly all my teammates understood Celtic Pride in terms of what needed to be done to make us winners. John Havlicek, who was our other great sixth man, told a reporter one time that starting wasn’t as important as finishing. How to win meant doing exactly what was called for. John was completely devoid of pretension.

More recently, Paul Ricard, who became Marseille’s most celebrated and flamboyant tycoon—he once took fifteen hundred of his staff to Rome to be blessed by the Pope—decided as a young man to make his own brand of pastis. It wasn’t an original idea. The Pernod distillery near Avignon had turned its production over to pastis when the dangerously addi