Activity

less innocuous than Rooney’s politically anodyne writing is her inflated reception

I like Rooney when she gloats and strives, when she is limned with the angry light of ambition

phenomenology, in its urge to articulate the flux and the unruly hum of “real” experience, is invariably ossivorous

Some moral concepts—theft, murder—act, for us, as moral primitives. They are our moral proprioception, orienting us in the ethical landscape, telling us up from down

I was sold on the eroticism I found in Milan Kundera’s homiletically pornographic novels