Book club has the salutary effect of forcing you to read things you don't particularly want to. So here I am again, reading Huxley's high school-reading list chestnut. So far it's notable mostly for its stridency- a kind of adolescent lookatmenow yawpishness.
But there's some fun in it, too, small details I didn't notice the first time through:
"Feeling lurks in that interval of time between desire and its consummation."
Huxley is not a Buddhist. And neither am I.
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