Hate blinds. It makes this man of exquisite sense a false instrument. It makes a lie of perception.
Charles Olson and Ezra Pound: An Encounter at St. Elizabeths, 1975, pg. 56 (emphasis my own)
It was a Friday evening, and I was, as usual, reading a book. Shabbat had come in with the sunset, but dinner wasn’t going to be for another hour. I could smell the food from the kitchen, and, in the living room with me, could hear my mother and brother turning the pages in their own books. The book I was reading was absolutely fascinating (and I gave it five stars on Goodreads, too), so I was a little irritated when my reading was interrupted by my father, who dumped eight books on the table next to me and asked if I want to have them.
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