There was one book in particular that inspired me to do this blog and that gave it the tone it has. I could have made a book review blog or a blog where I plainly shouted out what I had on my bare chest (as I have done before). But this blog does not intend to be either of those possibilities.
The book that inspired me was The books in my life by Henry Miller. And when I say that it inspired me I mean it in the most literal way: it gave me air, I felt I could breathe again. Forgotten oxygen came back into my cells. Before me I found a text that reaffirmed my feelings about knowledge and reading, and through which I felt like coming home after roaming the deserts.
For Miller, to express himself about what he read is equal to do self-examination…
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