On: Another Sort of Learning
This book keeps me creeping back in time to a more subtle romance with the written word.
It is less infatuation as it is age and decay. It is the foul rotting bodies of the authors spoken of in this great volume (truly literal) that keeps me coming back year after year to discover the face behind the corpse. The men behind the facade. The word.
What fascinates me is that they still speak, hundreds to thousands of years beyond the pale. What scintillates me is that they make sense at all, that I can sense all they did though not in the words they happened to spew, but that they did it, and I understand that they did, why they did and how.
I wish to be a thousand years dead so I could know them. They will remain unnamed for you will know them when they call and I shouldn't presume that they will be read anymore. But yet, perhaps, they have shaped you whether recalled or not. They are the greats, whomever that is to you. I will not presume that you have read them all as I presume you have not of me.
I am the worm that crawls through the socket, I know nothing but that which I devour. Great names, worthy souls. Men who wrote books.
That is the beauty of the title of this post. "Another Sort of Learning" penned by James V. Schall and available from Ignatius Press will point you on the road to a Liberal education the likes of which you never saw in college. A book for everyman, corpses or not.
Take my word- please. Take my freedom, please...but don't take my copy.
This book keeps me creeping back in time to a more subtle romance with the written word.
It is less infatuation as it is age and decay. It is the foul rotting bodies of the authors spoken of in this great volume (truly literal) that keeps me coming back year after year to discover the face behind the corpse. The men behind the facade. The word.
What fascinates me is that they still speak, hundreds to thousands of years beyond the pale. What scintillates me is that they make sense at all, that I can sense all they did though not in the words they happened to spew, but that they did it, and I understand that they did, why they did and how.
I wish to be a thousand years dead so I could know them. They will remain unnamed for you will know them when they call and I shouldn't presume that they will be read anymore. But yet, perhaps, they have shaped you whether recalled or not. They are the greats, whomever that is to you. I will not presume that you have read them all as I presume you have not of me.
I am the worm that crawls through the socket, I know nothing but that which I devour. Great names, worthy souls. Men who wrote books.
That is the beauty of the title of this post. "Another Sort of Learning" penned by James V. Schall and available from Ignatius Press will point you on the road to a Liberal education the likes of which you never saw in college. A book for everyman, corpses or not.
Take my word- please. Take my freedom, please...but don't take my copy.
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