Every man’s work, whether it be literature, or music or pictures or architecture or anything else, is always a portrait of himself.
Agreed. In a mystery I likely won’t publish, I had a character who mused that rooms in a house are the diaries the owners let us read.
OT — sorry — Umberto Eco has died.
I enjoyed “The Name of the Rose” enough to re-buy it on Kindle when they were having a sale last month. And this time, I can Google the Latin parts 🙂
Ah, man, that sucks. I love Eco’s work. Have you read Foucault’s Pendulum yet?
Not yet! But I’m scrolling through Eco’s works on Amazon and I’m leaning towards that one.
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