'We citizens of the world are neither famous nor spectacular. But there is a slow fire burning within us, and it is time for our latent energies to swell forth anew. It is time for us to reassert ourselves. And it is our duty to remind our fellow creatures of what they are fast forgetting, that true culture is universal.' In this classic memoir Harold Acton offers a witty and vivid account of the first thirty-five years of his life (1904-39): from a boyhood among the dilettanti in Florence before the First World War, ...
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'We citizens of the world are neither famous nor spectacular. But there is a slow fire burning within us, and it is time for our latent energies to swell forth anew. It is time for us to reassert ourselves. And it is our duty to remind our fellow creatures of what they are fast forgetting, that true culture is universal.' In this classic memoir Harold Acton offers a witty and vivid account of the first thirty-five years of his life (1904-39): from a boyhood among the dilettanti in Florence before the First World War, through his friendships with some of the great writers of his generation in Oxford and Paris, to his discovery of a spiritual home in Peking. 'As if he were a latter-day Beckford or Horace Walpole, people will long study his books if only to catch an echo of his voice.' Alan Pryce-Jones, Independent
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