from a review of of Judith Thurmans’ New Yorker essay on Leni Riefenstahl:

Time, that is intolerant
of the brave and innocent,
And indifferent in a week,
To a beautiful physique,
Worships language and forgives
Everyone by whom it lives;
Pardons cowardice, conceit,
Lays its honours at their feet.

Time that with this strange excuse
Pardoned Kipling and his views,
And will pardon Paul Claudel,
Pardons him for writing well.

Perhaps Kipling and Claudel, but what if Mohammed Atta had written great short stories?

Celine was a gifted writer, but perhaps his misanthropy means he can’t join the ranks of the great.