Five minutes ago Drew Barrymore approached my desk, touched my arm, handed me a copy of Flower Press, said "Happy Monday," walked away, and then I think my blood turned a different color.
young men today are not okay. they’re lonely. they’re alienated. they’re not having sex. women don’t even want to talk to them. worst of all, they’re writing hundreds of sonnets, madrigals, dizains, and canzoni about it
My dear friend Mr. Fuller of Twickenham and I dined alone at the Sun Tavern, where he told me how he had the grant of being Dean of St. Patrick’s, in Ireland; and I told him my condition, and both rejoiced one for another.