"This book is not about you," Anthony Staarkard insisted to his lovely biographer. "I wrote it before I even met you."
Furtwangler said, "That does not mean it isn't about me. It just means you didn't know it at the time."
"You are being ridiculous, my dove "
"I think you wrote it for my birthday."
And there was nothing he could say to persuade her otherwise, because it was impossible to prove a negative. He might as well have tried to argue that flying saucers did not exist
Furtwangler continued thoughtfully: "Maybe I'll write a book about you one day."