tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12546017.post6395435251727385884..comments2023-12-22T10:17:24.280-05:00Comments on Bookpuddle: An American ChildhoodCiprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12546017.post-80140775088731180532007-06-08T00:23:00.000-04:002007-06-08T00:23:00.000-04:00You are leading a decadent, decadent, decadent [wh...You are leading a decadent, decadent, <I>decadent</I> [which is to say ADMIRABLE... DESIRABLE] life, Merisi.<BR/>Which is to say, "Take me there!" that I may clog my last artery!<BR/><BR/>Great passage, anonymous.<BR/>Thank you for reminding me of it.Ciprianohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12546017.post-33023445384588074172007-06-06T13:07:00.000-04:002007-06-06T13:07:00.000-04:00Here is one of my favorite passages from An Americ...Here is one of my favorite passages from An American Childhood:<BR/>"I had been driven into nonfiction against my wishes. I wanted to read fiction, but I had learned to be cautious about it. <BR/>'When you open a book,' the sentimental library posters said, 'anything can happen.' This was so. A book of fiction was a bomb. It was a land mine you wanted to go off. You wanted it to blow your whole day. <BR/>Unfortunately, hundreds of thousands of books were duds. They had been rusting out of everyone's way for so long that they no longer worked. There was no way to distinguish the duds from the live mines except to throw yourself at them headlong, one by one."Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12546017.post-42634454533083608832007-06-06T01:10:00.000-04:002007-06-06T01:10:00.000-04:00Couldn't agree more with you both. :-) The more so...Couldn't agree more with you both. :-) The more so after yesterday's visit do Demel's. Live is a bowl of cherry made into Cherry Strudel! And sitting under sun umbrellas in a thunderstorm, not bad either. :-)Merisihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16781937797213521146noreply@blogger.com