… to what we are doing to ourselves, each and every day?
The dream, in which we live, is both addictive and narcotic, it dulls the senses and enslaves. 16 more words
I’m rereading Middlemarch and drinking Rioja in my underwear while everyone else in my house sleeps. And this follows a day on which the Kinder and I took the train to Boston, ate lunch at South Station, played in the Children’s Museum for 3+ hours, charmed folks at “Daddy’s office,” and took the train home. 187 more words