The arrival of my Kindle Paperwhite in the summer of 2013 set me into a reading frenzy. No longer was I forgetting my current book on the nightstand, the sofa, the passenger seat, my gym bag. No longer was I cognitively idling in the dark waiting for my little one to drift off. No longer did I have to justify the price of a nicely printed book when all the classics were easily and instantaneously to be had on the cheap. And no longer were my underlines and marginalia scattered, uncompiled, neglected for all my best intentions, endangered by a trip through the laundry.
And yet what has this frenzy brought me but sleep deprivation? The love of letters, and the permanent availability of yet another title has left me with little reason stop and consider what I have read, to slow down and give the writing the time it deserves.
Hence this blog, that I, and whoever else, may tarry some with the written word. Call me D.S. Thorne.
And yet what has this frenzy brought me but sleep deprivation? The love of letters, and the permanent availability of yet another title has left me with little reason stop and consider what I have read, to slow down and give the writing the time it deserves.
Hence this blog, that I, and whoever else, may tarry some with the written word. Call me D.S. Thorne.
sed cognitio nostra est adeo debilis quod nullus philosophus potuit unquam perfecte investigare naturam unius muscae
But our manner of knowing is so weak that no philosopher could perfectly investigate the nature of even one little fly
But our manner of knowing is so weak that no philosopher could perfectly investigate the nature of even one little fly