Seated on Elysian lawns
Brows'd by none but Dian's fawns;
Underneath large blue-bells tented,
Where the daisies are rose-scented,
And the rose herself has got
Perfume which on earth is not;
Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine melodious truth;
Philosophic numbers smooth;
Tales and golden histories
Of heaven and its mysteries.
"Ode" by John Keats.
I.M. Art Buchwald
1925 - 2007
"Ann was sympathetic to my problems,
but at the same time she was getting tired of telling everyone
that I couldn't be at a party because
I was on a Ferris wheel in Vienna with Orson Welles."
Art Buchwald, page 185, "I'll Always Have Paris".
A Memoir. 1997
"Art Buchwald's Moveable Feast"
(The Washington Post)