If I'm not reading manuscripts for work, I read stuff I've saved on Instapaper.
When I'm working, I read what I have written out loud.
The work I read is too good and too adventurous to stay in any one box for very long.
A long poem about the dawn, "Tithonus," may be the most beautiful work I read all year.
As a seminarian and an admirer of the Stanford anthropologist T. M. Luhrmann's work, I read "The Benefits of Church" (column, April 21) with interest.
Yes, I knew her work; I read her long ago for my doctoral thesis, and then again when I wrote the text for a British Council Woolf exhibition.
The first prose work I read by Robert Walser was his piece on Kleist in Thun, where he talks of the torment of one despairing of himself and his craft, and of the intoxicating beauty of the surrounding landscape.
The value of the particular and the singular was something I learned from, among others, Walter Benjamin, whose work I read while studying literature in Bergen in the nineteen-nineties.
For years, she did the usual billionaire's-wife things — "I did charity work, I read for the blind" — but eventually she got a master's degree in music history from Hunter College.
