Years ago, Facebook asked me which ten books had stayed with me. It was a safe question. Facebook wasn’t trying to be intelligent yet.
I wrote down ten: Umberto Eco’s...
Rain dashed upon the glass and steel canyon-streets of London, drumming against the concrete walls that rose from the riverbank, high above the ancient...
“Returning was, in many ways, harder than setting out had been. My nerves were wrecked, I couldn’t feel my legs, and the silence had finally caught up to me.”