Books are not men and yet they are alive. They are man's memory and his aspiration, the link between his present and his past, the tools he builds with.
И умру я не на постели,
При нотариусе и враче,
А в какой-нибудь дикой щели,
Утонувшей в густом плющ...
I will not die in a bed
A mystery novel by a pseudonymous author arrives with a warning: “Advance Promotional Copy: Do Not Read.” Was it just a ploy for virality, or something else?
The best sports story you’ll encounter this weekend is not at the Olympics LA Times. On surfer Garrett McNamara at Portugal’s Nazaré. I couldn’t find a surfing video without tacky blood-pounding music, so here’s an hour of the surf alone
To cool down, seals urinate on themselves, bees vomit, storks defecate. We sweat, for better and worse better as usual
PEOPLE HAVE KNOWN THIS FOR DECADES: Study rates New Zealand best place to survive global collapse.
MARK LEVIN ON A ROLL: Another 157,000 copies of American Marxism sold in week two.
DON’T PULL THE STAKE OUT OF ITS HEART! Remains of Giant Vampire Bat From 100,000 Years Ago Found in Argentinian Cave
Fragments Of Integrity Found In Canberra Wastewater
Substack Is Launching Its Own Podcast Network
Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.
This quote, from Marthe Troly-Curtin’s 1911 novel “Phrynette Married,” suggests that the things we love doing are rarely a waste of time — even if they might seem unimportant to others. In the book, the character of Phrynette is told she wasted her father’s time by having him concentrate on raising her rather than working. But Phrynette points out that raising a child brought her father pleasure, so how could that be a waste? It’s a reminder to listen to and trust our own hearts, being careful not to let other people define happiness and success for us.