The new edition published by Ian Fleming’s estate features the spook denouncing Orbán’s government and populism while combating an eccentric right-wing aristocrat trying to seize the British throne.
Never in human history has it been easier and cheaper to amass an enormous personal library of the greatest literature produced by our civilization (and others)—and never, perhaps, has it been more important to do so.
We are marked from the day of our birth with an end date; all is indeed vanity. To forget our mortality is thus to lose something human, to become inhuman.
