New Yorker
Originally uploaded by Charlie Roberts
“On the threshold of love we are bashful,” Proust noted. “There has to be someone who will say to us, ‘Here is what you may love: love it.’ ”
the chronicles of "a neurological disease" - (so they say) HOW IT ENDED (it never was) & I REGAINED MY G-D GIVEN HEALTH! (Fin de siècle)
“On the threshold of love we are bashful,” Proust noted. “There has to be someone who will say to us, ‘Here is what you may love: love it.’ ”
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