Civic powerlessness can be overridden by good gossip.
~ Doreen St. Félix via The New Yorker

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The show, a sort of elegy for Gen X, opens with a flash-forward to July 16, 1999, the final hours of Carolyn Bessette and John F. Kennedy, Jr. On the tarmac, the lovers crouch, pressing their foreheads together, as if knowledgeable about their impending end.
~ Doreen St. Félix via The New Yorker

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The two were cremated and had their ashes scattered in the Atlantic, an unreachable grave site, which intensified the irrational feeling that the couple had disappeared on some journey—where to, we don’t know.
~ Doreen St. Félix via The New Yorker

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The show had its première party in New York City in early February. The Times’ Styles section did its glossy treatment of the night, which struck a familiar tone. The wish in a certain class of creative professionals today is to resuscitate the shift in the atmosphere of the nineties, that clash of the louche and the classed, the first gentrifications of downtown—impossible in the fully corporatized Manhattan of today.
~ Doreen St. Félix via The New Yorker

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After the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, in 1963, Jacqueline, alert with a widow’s sense of history management, spun in Life magazine the myth of Camelot.
~ Doreen St. Félix via The New Yorker

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Ownership of the Kennedy story is a war with many combatants.
~ Doreen St. Félix via The New Yorker

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The political dynasty is not guaranteed a future. The fitness of the second and third generations is threatened by the very privilege they are born into.
~ Doreen St. Félix via The New Yorker

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