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Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others (Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own)

Every moderate drinker could abandon the intoxicating cup if he would every inebriate would if he could

And, as for the oil, it is a masterpiece. You’ll see.”Before dinner that night, we tested it, dripping it onto slices of bread that had been rubbed with the flesh of tomatoes. It was like eating sunshine

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