But I Never Listen To Music While

One Of My Favorite Writers Is Michel De Montaigne. My Wife Gave Me A Beautiful 17th-century Edition Of Montaigne's Essays Translated By John Florio. That's Probably My Most Precious Possession.

A Comparably Capacious Embrace Of Beauty And Pleasure - An Embrace That Somehow Extends To Death As Well As Life, To Dissolution As Well As Creation - Characterizes Montaigne's Restless Reflections On Matter In Motion, Cervantes's Chronicle Of His Mad Knight, Michelangelo's Depiction Of Flayed Skin, Leonardo's Sketches Of Whirlpools, Caravaggio's Loving Attention To The Dirty Soles Of Christ's Feet.

I Think The Writing Of Literature Should Give Pleasure. What Else Should It Be About? It Is Not Nuclear Physics. It Actually Has To Give Pleasure Or It Is Worth Nothing.

But If Shakespeare Himself Is Maybe About Meaning And Truth, I Don't Know, Then He Is Certainly About Pleasure And Interest, We Start With Pleasure And Interest, But Maybe Eventually It Gets To Meaning And Truth.

A Couple Of Years Ago I Picked Up New Yorker Writer Alma Guillermoprieto's "the Heart That Bleeds," Which Is Reportage From Latin America In The 1990s. You Can Predict That Some Books Will Give You A Thrill, But You Can't Predict The Books That Will Hit You Hard. It Is A Little Bit Like Falling In Love.