I had the happy fortune to wake up today, get some coffee, feed the dog, and snuggle right back under the sheets to finish the most incredible book. Proust was a Neuroscientist. It's a book marked up with pen, stars and comments all over the margins. It's that sort of book.
"We are only intimate with ourselves," is one pearl from Jonah Lehrer's chapter on Virginia Woolf.
Another is this: "As Woolf understood, the self is a fiction that cannot be treated like a fact."
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