Well was it called the Place of the Skull. 

I have in my study a silver vase holding four peacock plumes and several parrot feathers. 

By the time Jean-François Millet had at last gained some grudging respect from the Paris Salon, his health was failing. 

The scene is the Basilica of Saint Mark, in Milan, in 1874. 

Montaigne's reflections are a call to honest and sometimes painful self-examination. 

I cannot think of any politician, thinker or novelist who has sent so much comfort and aspiration to so many people.

Martin Scorsese's homage to Mafiosos movies is ultimately a tale of life experienced from the perspective of eternity.

I believe that Tolkien found in the Middle Ages something of what another Catholic novelist, Sigrid Undset, found there.

Can the policies and the person be separated?

Manners, properly understood, are the instruments whereby we negotiate our passage through the world.