Taki Theodoracopulos Quotes

Golden Dawn members might need some lessons in social etiquette, but what the bien pensant need much more is to get off the pot and their double standards. Golden Dawn members are mostly labourers, martial artists, cops, security personnel and good old-fashioned patriotic Greeks.

In Harvey's case, there is a lot to hang him with, and now that it's out in the open, they are all creeping out of the woodwork. Even an ugly waitress has suddenly recalled that she served the 'pig' while he hit on women. It's funny how feelings of anxiety and degradation suddenly appear when these kinds of revelations hit the papers.

Like that stupid woman writing in the IHT and warning against a fascist takeover of Greece; no such luck, I'm afraid.

I am old enough to have had many friends who spent the war years in Paris under German occupation, and now I read what I always knew to be true: for many, Paris 1940 to 1944 was a non-stop party.

The ghost of Harry Lime, Graham Greene's infamous anti-hero, inspires me to see a drizzle-in-lamp-light Vienna, yet the times I've been to the Austrian capital it’s always been sunny and hot. But I saw The Third Man when I was 12 years old and Vienna has been dark and drizzly ever since. Ditto the Wehrmacht uniform. I saw it as a child being worn by tall, blond German officers who were billeted in our house in Kolonaki. It has remained in my mind as the perfect military ensemble. And speaking of the Wehrmacht, if I couldn’t have been a German officer in Paris 1940, being an expatriate American there would have suited me fine.

A very silly Englishman — I think Cottrell was his name — once asked me whether deep in my heart I wished to be English. I laughed out loud. If I could have been someone other than who I am, I told him, I would have chosen to have been an officer of Rommel's 25th Panzer Regiment of 7th Panzer Division, the greatest fighting unit ever, and one that beat the frogs cleanly and honorably. With Paris literally at my feet, and in that incredibly dashing uniform, the Fräuleins would have come running.

So the next time you read some leftie old hag banging on about the fascist evils ready to take over in Greece, use their newspaper writings in the smallest room in your house.

Going to a hooker was not looked down upon then. It was before the pill; girls weren't giving it away.

I was 23 when I went over to her place with Rubirosa [...] It was the late 50s, and she was already a legend.

Omaha Beach, Normandy
I am standing in a German cement bunker having walked through a large gaping hole caused by an incoming shell that must have instantly killed the handful of defenders. The bunker is on the beach, about 50 yards from the sea at high tide, and an afternoon mist is rolling in from the north. The scene is eerie and chilling, and 74 years on my heart goes out to those defenders.
There are ghosts all around us. I try to put myself in the place of the very young, or old, Wehrmacht soldiers inside the bunker as they face the 6,700 or so ships that loom suddenly on the horizon. There is no time to think as naval heavy guns unleash projectiles weighing as much as two tonnes, and let up only as the landing boats are approaching. The odds are overwhelming; the defenders have been caught by surprise. They have a couple of heavy machine guns and, most likely, a Panzerfaust — bazooka — and limited ammunition. In no time the beach has been blasted to smithereens, and now landing boats are hitting the shoreline and men are charging, knee-high in water. Overhead, Allied planes are attacking the German rear. There are no Luftwaffe airplanes anywhere in sight. The soon-to-be-entombed small band fire their weapons and stand their ground, until their pillbox is blasted open and they fall to a man.
It might sound strange me writing in The Spectator from a German perspective, but fair’s fair. I asked my companions which side they'd choose, and all of them agreed that the attacking forces had a better chance of survival than the defenders. Spielberg and his ilk have shown the landing parties to be sitting ducks, but this is real history, not Hollywood bullshit.

[A]s strange as it may sound, he and I are buddies. ... I really like him. He comes to my parties and I go to his. Last Christmas, at my New York bash, I introduced Harvey [Weinstein] to around 20 women, and he hit on all of them. Good for him.

Marc Rich, however, has done us a favour. By bribing everyone and sundry, he managed to expose the side of Clinton so many leftists and liberals refused to see. He also proved what we, soi-disant anti-Semites for daring to protest about soldiers shooting at kids, always knew. The way to Uncle Sam's heart runs through Tel Aviv and Israeli-occupied territory.