Sublime

The last time Scott had been in Paris, he got the Hemingways locked out of one apartment and in trouble with the landlord all the time.

“So guy walks into a bar,” I said again. “With an octopus. Says to the bartender ‘I’ll bet a hundred dollars this octopus can play any instrument in the place.’”

When he hears that I have left the country, without even the ceremonious attention of a visit, what will he think of me?

‘Folk hero.’ I sipped at the beer. ‘Where is John Wayne now that we really need him?’ ‘John Wayne?’ He shook his head. ‘I never went in the can, you know. I’m no expert at military history.’ ‘Forget it.’

Martyr = Sir Thomas More. Trickster = Bugs Bunny.

Roosevelt showed little patience for the “statesmen of the Atlantic seaboard” who were congenitally “unable to fully appreciate the magnitude of the interests at stake in the west.” In his telling, not George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, but Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett—fighting Indians, hacking their way through the woods—were the true autho