On December 14, George Whitman, the proprietor of Paris’s Shakespeare and Company bookstore, died. He was 98.
I was 17 and sitting under a cherry tree when we met, and he invited me to live at the shop. He changed my life that day. George had written over the doorway of the upstairs library “Be not inhospitable to strangers. They may be angels in disguise. He kept a home for wayward artists in the heart of Paris for over 50 years. George Whitman was a fucking hero to art, to hope,to possibility. Rest in peace George. I owe so much more to you than I ever got to say. Thank you
George and me