I hope you have fully recovered from your illness, and don’t let anything else happen to you. In October, remember you and I will get drunk together.” —Groucho Marx to TS Eliot
There is little more restorative on a hanged-over, rained-out day than reading the weird literary mash notes Groucho Marx and TS Eiliot wrote to each other as they spent two years planning, and failing, to have dinner together.
(Oh god. Now I’m truly turning into Cavett)