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I liked flicking through them, seeing all the long serried German words

when I was that age had none of the clarity and assuredness of Sagan’s work, they were autotelic and inscrutable and quite often when I read back over them I didn’t understand them at all

looking for something, yes, abeyant treasure – the bedrock of himself in other words

Imagine lying there beneath such a pendulous chandelier of lambent gloom

Leonardo’s invidious compliments only provoked more of my bookish rhetoric