T.S Eliot

Reading is following a knotted rope into a dark cave. We go into it on faith and emerge carrying with us something we didn’t have before. The particle might be small, a mere speck, but it is there, this new thing and already it has combined with others to form constellations. It’s a remarkable thing that we do, when we read…every bit as remarkable as that which the writer has managed. In fact, without the reader, the writer manages little, mere squiggles. We don’t always remember what we mean to accomplish when we set out to read and the magnitude of the feat once we haveRead More →