Maybe I'm wrong, but sometime about ten years ago a dear friend of WFB got sick and died and somehow it came out that he was "gay" and Buckley bit his lip and eulogized him all the same and somewhere in that slow, staccato, stuttering march of arch and curve that makes up the unmistakable voice of one who speaks for God himself before the world, an epiphany worked its worming way under the depths of an otherwise inpenetrable palisade alongside the man who thought he trod on gilded walk; a crack appeared, and the carefully crafted path gave way.
If you are saying that WFB was a windbag, you have something of a point, IMO. I revere him for his role in modern conservatism and he is, apparently, a grand fellow in his more personal qualities. I tried to catch every broadcast of Firing Line back in the day. But I can not read the tortured, pointlessly obscure prose of our dear friend and saint.
I read that with my morning coffee. I was a great pleasure.