![]() It’s those people I’m afraid of, on behalf of the book. Having said that, I also know that this book is not for everyone I’m sure there are people who couldn’t finish it, found it too long-winded and philosophical or found the connections drawn across millennia to be standing on flimsy grounds. Maria Popova is a genius, and I doubt whether the world deserves her. I can’t begin to describe it’s impact on me. Suffice to say that it’s my new favourite book, and easily one of the finest I have ever had the privilege to read. I will not, I cannot, use them to talk about work such as this. They do no justice to the magic contained between the yellow covers. My words seem small, ugly, measly, thoroughly inadequate. It seems that such a gift, of reading and appreciating the treasure that it is, can’t be something that is indiscriminately given to just anyone! ![]() Maybe those who are intended for it, will find it. Attempting to analyse their beauty can only take away from their splendor. ![]() After all there are some things that are best left untouched, unsullied. I let myself feel the tussle between wanting to tell everyone everything that is great about this book on the one hand and just letting things be on the other. I finished it earlier this week, and then sat with my trepidation for a couple of days. ![]() I’m supposed to review this book like I do for every book I read, hence the title, but I don’t want to write a review for this particular book I can’t. This is not a book review despite what the title says. ![]()
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