Since the return of the redoubtable head of the French people to Paris, I have been no less amused by his ill-digested boastings and swaggerings, than I was before delighted by the complete discomfiture of his ambitious plans.
We must then clear our minds of all notion that the hoplolatry of the Greeks implies anthropomorphism.
And four years after Pep from Catalonia first clapped eyes on Phil from Stockport across a crowded rondo, here finally was the consummation.
When the staccato, Neptunes-ian single “Boyfriend” was released in March, musical prognosticators were quick to peg the album it portended, Believe, as Justin Bieber’s Justified, a grown-and-sexy, R&B-centric departure that evolved millennial teenybopper Justin Timberlake into one of the unifying pop-music figures of the aughts.
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