Over wire-rimmed glasses, Virginia Woolf peers down at the drawing, takes in the words, breathes in an imagined Argentinian starry sky. Continue reading December 14th 1922
What if things go south and you’re reminded that there wasn’t even technically anything there to be upset about in the first place? Continue reading What I Thought About Normal People
It’s an unattainable goal, almost certainly. Continue reading When Will I Have Read Enough Books?