I am not very Proust like in my posts. I do not write enough inside the body of the messages and I do not write enough posts. I would guess that Proust would write pages and pages, detailing thoughts and emotions, ideas and musings, descriptions and undulations, that would reveal the whys and wherefores of the limiting capacity toward posting. How was that for a Proustian sentence?
Ok, so I have been reading and reading and reading. I have been reading Proust and I have been reading other writers. I am finding as is on the frontispiece of _Dead Souls_ that there are books and there are Books and even some of the greatest literature can only fall into the class of books. I have become enchanted with Kawabata and Gogol but Doctorow and Steinbeck leave me cold. I do ok with Mahfouz but I have no love or connection for Nabakov. I have not started with M.F.K. Fisher or Jane Austen and I particularly like Calvino, I can see why Calvino is so popular in bookstores. Ok so I gotta go live life a bit see you again soonish.
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