For a while now, I’ve been reading The Nicomachean Ethics, taking it slowly—two or three pages at a time—in the morning with a fresh mind after a full night’s sleep; and perhaps it’s my own ignorance talking, but I’ve never read such a bland and uninspiring text that I found myself glancing with a modicum of sympathy at the washing machine’s instruction manual lying on the shelf above it. It’s like with the old silent films that have become cult classics—you appreciate their importance to the development of cinematography, but you can’t resist yawning while watching them.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 