John Rivers
John Rivers was a notable biographer and scholar, best known for his work 'Figaro: The Life of Beaumarchais.' In this comprehensive biography, Rivers delved into the life of Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, the multifaceted French playwright, inventor, and political activist. Rivers' exploration of Beaumarchais not only illuminated the complexities of the playwright's character but also contextualized his contributions to the theatrical world and his influence on the political landscape of his time. Rivers' writing is characterized by its meticulous research and engaging narrative style, which brings to life the vibrant era of the Enlightenment in France. His work has been significant in shedding light on Beaumarchais' role in the development of modern drama and his impact on figures such as Mozart, who adapted Beaumarchais' plays into operas. Through Rivers' scholarship, readers gain a deeper understanding of the interplay between art and politics in the 18th century, highlighting the enduring legacy of Beaumarchais as a cultural icon. John Rivers' contributions to literary biography continue to resonate, offering insights into the lives of influential figures who shaped the arts and society.
Famous Quotes
View all 15 quotes“We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore.””
“The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit- and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains. And the smell of rot fills the country. Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth. There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.””
“Alaska finished her cigarette and flicked it into the river.'Why do you smoke so damn fast?' I asked.She looked at me and smiled widely, and such a wide smile on her narrow face might have looked goofy were it not for the unimpeachably elegant green in her eyes. She smiled with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning and said, 'Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.””
