I am less interested in the clever remark than in the load-bearing sentence. We build for the century, not the cycle. A salon without a footing is a tent in a gust; a salon with a footing becomes a house for memory. Begin with what you will keep: the norms, the rituals, the record. From there, everything elegant is possible.

A charter is hospitality made structural. Declare your purpose, your scope, your manners of disagreement. Write rules you can love on your worst day. Walls without windows stifle; windows without walls collapse. A good design balances strength with light.

I adore a dinner party—luminous minds, spirited claims, the clink of glass against good sense. But when a room remembers, it graduates. Name your stages, keep minutes that actually breathe, surface the best thinking again. Do this and your gatherings will ripen into temples of knowledge—not just an evening well spent, but a tradition begun.

Your materials are manners, memory, and meaning. Your methods are covenant, cadence, and care. Archive the significant; annotate the disputable; celebrate the exemplary. When in doubt, prefer clarity over cleverness. The world has noise in surplus; contribute structure—and generosity.