Running a liberal paper is like feeding melted butter on the end of an awl to a wild cat.
No man's plenum, Mr. Quistgaard, is impervious to the awl of God's will.
No, I don't admire the genius. But I admire and love the result of the genius's activity in the world, of which the great man is only the poor necessary tool, only, so to speak, the paltry awl to bore with.