Marginalia...

... was the original name of this blog and the subject of the first post on it, so I'm always delighted to find something bloggable that can take the "marginalia" tag.

I love this one, from the biography "John Adams" (pp. 763-764)(commission earned):

Unlike [Thomas] Jefferson, who seldom ever marked a book, and then only faintly in pencil, [John] Adams, pen in hand, loved to add his comments in the margins. It was part of the joy of reading for him, to have something to say himself, to talk back to, agree or take issue with, Rousseau, Condorcet, Turgot, Mary Wollstonecraft, Adam Smith, or Joseph Priestley.

Ah, John Adams was a proto-blogger! 

"The two candidates conveyed the customary air of indifference, neither saying anything publicly or appearing to lift a finger in his own behalf."

"Jefferson remained at Monticello, Adams at his farm, which he had lately taken to calling Stoneyfield, instead of Peacefield, perhaps feeling the new name was more in keeping with New England candor, or that it better defined the look of the political landscape at the moment."

From "John Adams" (p. 672) by David McCullough, describing the candidates' participation in the election campaign of 1800. (Commission earned.)

"A peck of troubles in a large bundle of papers.... No company. No society. Idle, unmeaning ceremony."

Wrote John Adams, complaining about what it's like to be President of the United States, quoted in "John Adams" by David McCullough (page 638)(commission earned).

I've spent so much time in the last 20 years watching numerous characters seeking the presidency. It's a wholesome respite to read about someone who doesn't like it at all.

ADDED: On the subject of the President's security: "Told there had been an attempt to break into the President’s House and asked if a guard should be posted, Adams said no, lest a sentinel at the door lead people to think the situation worse than they knew" (page 603). 

"I have never had this feeling about any book. I do kind of feel that way about the Internet!"

I comment, in last night's post about the death of David McCullough, in response to boatbuilder's comment: 

The Great Bridge is a really wonderful book. I thought--how can a big fat book about the Brooklyn Bridge be anything but a snoozer? Couldn't put it down.

"Couldn't put it down" — really? Literally? Does that ever happen to you — literally — and if so, what was the book? 

"People often ask me if I’m working on a book. That’s not how I feel. I feel like I work in a book. It’s like putting myself under a spell."

"And this spell, if you will, is so real to me that if I have to leave my work for a few days, I have to work myself back into the spell when I come back. It’s almost like hypnosis."

Said David McCullough, quoted in "David McCullough, Best-Selling Explorer of America’s Past, Dies at 89/His research — on Adams, Truman and so much more — was deep, his writing was lively, and his narrator’s voice in documentary films was familiar to millions" (NYT).

"Former President George W. Bush once went on an awkward blind date with the daughter of then-President Richard Nixon."

"During dinner, I reached for some butter, knocked over a glass, and watched in horror as the stain of red wine crept across the table. Then I fired up a cigarette, prompting a polite suggestion from Tricia that I not smoke."

Aw, that's not so bad. Maybe I need to buy the book. Here. The story is that Bush's father hosted a dinner honoring the commander of Apollo 8, which had flown around the moon in December 1968, and invited young Bush, to mix with the various Washington people. Old Bush had an "ulterior motive": "I also invited Tricia Nixon. I thought it might be fun for you to take her to the party."

Bush was "briefly speechless":