The Still Point: Wisdom’s Lecture Hall, Virtue’s Practicum

In high school, my literary opinions were as absolute as they were ill-considered. T. S. Eliot did not escape unscathed; he wrote poems about cats, and I had thoughts. My reasoned criticism amounted to a judgment that T. S. Eliot was a moron. I do not remember how much later I re-encountered his poetry, only […]

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