As I toil towards my goal of unloading 2000 books from the Maggie's HQ, it's tough not to flip through each one in case you might change your mind. My books are part of me, it seems. That is stupid.
Take Emerson. I open a random page. No, dammit. I can not understand the guy and I never could figger out what he was getting at. Not blaming him because as far as I can tell he is a deep thinker and his essays remain widely appreciated. "It's me, not you."
My Dad loved him, but I have lower IQ than my Dad. I blame my mother's side: rich practical business people.