Finished Reading: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson đź“š
Third time in this book, and I love it equally each time — its meditative depths of simplicity, or some such paradox.
Nan Shepherd said that “simply to look on anything, such as a mountain, with the love that penetrates to its essence, is to widen the domain of being in the vastness of non-being. Man has no other reason for his existence.” I can think of no better description at the heart of this book, and of Robinson’s writing in general.