I don't have any problem getting to the end of books because I'm a very quick reader.

Though Charles II both craved and enjoyed female companionship till the end of his life, there is no question that by the cold, rainy autumn of 1682 his physical appetites had diminshed considerably. The Duchess of Portsmouth was, after all, more than twenty years his junior; and there comes a time in nearly every such relationship when the male partner is simply unable to fully accommodate the female partner. Or as Samuel Pepys tartly noted in his diary, "the king yawns much in council, it is thought he spends himself overmuch in the arms of Madame Louise, who far from being wearied, seems fresher than ever after sporting with the king.

What I remember most is that he made the sitting such fun. It was so enjoyable because he had such high spirits.

The repercussions of the massive explosion (in 1605) would have been even more devastating than the attacks on the Twin Towers in September 2001.

I am re-reading Henry James as a change from history. I began with Daisy Miller, and I've just finished Washington Square. What a brilliant, painful book.

I realize that I had always in my heart of hearts planned to write a biography of Marie Antoinette.