I do not read literature for answers. They sometimes appear: In all its absurdity and darkness, Godot still helps me see more clearly the value of friendship; Moby Dick, what a personal fanaticism can wreak; Macbeth, how political murder leads on to more murders; Ulysses, that love is always imperfect, complex, replete with contradictions. Such revelations are extras. I read for the questions, especially those so mysterious that definitive answers […]
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