There's A Paradox In Rereading. You Read

Bohemia And All Its Works Are Vanished Out Of America; Or, More Exactly, Bohemia Has Migrated To The Middle Class, And Is Alive And Well In Condo And Suburb.

Is There A Word More Passionate Than Passion? Obsession, Total Immersion, The Feeling That Everything Else Doesn't Matter.

Above All, A Book Is A Riverbank For The River Of Language. Language Without The Riverbank Is Only Television Talk - A Free Fall, A Loose Splash, A Spill.

Traveling Is Seeing; It Is The Implicit That We Travel By.

Novels Are Routinely Denigrated When Characters Are Not Found To Be Likable. Is Raskolnikov Likable? Is King Lear? The Plethora Of Such Naive Readers Testifies To A Failure Of Imagination - The Capacity To See Into Unfamiliar Lives, Motives, Feelings - And This Failure Must, At Least In Part, Be The Failure Of The Teaching Of Literature In The Schools.