George Bernard Shaw, the world's greatest living literary figure, turned 90, and had a high old time of it. All day long a procession of literary pilgrims plodded through his Ayot St. Lawrence home near London. "I don't like this," he howled. "They've come to see the animal just because he's 90." But Shavian wit was up to the occasion. Some birthday shafts:
¶"All my life affection has been showered on me, and every forward step I took has been taken in spite of it."
¶ "It is sometimes necessary to make people laugh to...
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