The aim of literary ambition is to demonstrate one's greatness of soul.
Psychology keeps trying to vindicate human nature. History keeps undermining the effort.
To Jane Austen, every fool is a treasure trove.
The sacred is found boring by many who find the uncanny fascinating.
Amazing that the human race has taken enough time out from thinking about food or sex to create the arts and sciences.
At retirement, switching from "I must" to "I want" leaves me puzzled and uneasy.