Max Beerbohm
Max Beerbohm
Sir Henry Maximilian "Max" Beerbohmwas an English essayist, parodist, and caricaturist. He first became known in the 1890s as a dandy and a humorist. He was the drama critic for the Saturday Review from 1898 until 1910, when he relocated to Rapallo, Italy. In his later years he was popular for his occasional radio broadcasts. Among his best-known works is his only novel, Zuleika Dobson, published in 1911. His caricatures, drawn usually in pen or pencil with muted watercolour tinting,...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionActor
Date of Birth24 August 1872
As a teacher, as a propagandist, Mr. Shaw is no good at all, even in his own generation. But as a personality, he is immortal.
Every one, even the richest and most munificent of men, pays much by cheque more light-heartedly than he pays little in specie.
Admiration involves a glorious obliquity of vision.
But to die of laughter--this, too, seems to me a great euthanasia.
The Socratic manner is not a game at which two can play.
True dandyism is the result of an artistic temperament working upon a fine body within the wide limits of fashion.
Women who love the same man have a kind of bitter freemasonry.
Men of genius are not quick judges of character.
The most perfect caricature is that which, on a small surface, with the simplest means, most accurately exaggerates, to the highest point, the peculiarities of a human being, at his most characteristic moment in the most beautiful manner.
For a young man, sleep is a sure solvent of distress. There whirls not for him in the night any so hideous phantasmagoria as will not become, in the clarity of the next morning, a spruce procession for him to lead. Brief the vague horror of his awakening; memory sweeps back to him, and he sees nothing dreadful after all. "Why not?" is the sun's bright message to him, and "Why not indeed?" his answer.
I believe the twenty-four hour day has come to stay.
It is a fact that not once in all my life have I gone out for a walk. I have been taken out for walks; but that is another matter.
Of course we all know that Morris was a wonderful all-round man, but the act of walking round him has always tired me.
By its very looseness, by its way of evoking rather than defining, suggesting rather than saying, English is a magnificent vehicle for emotional poetry.