Now that is a remarkable thing to consider.

I just finished re-reading Gilead for the first time since a couple summers ago. I love that book. There are passages in it so exquisite that they leave me with that poignant mixture of happiness and sadness that I get when I witness something sublimely beautiful - like when I saw Emanuel Ax perform Brahms' Piano Concerto #2 in Avery Fisher Hall or when I see the lights of the Chicago skyline from Lake Shore Drive at night.

Here's a snippet. It's easier for me to share the bits that make me laugh rather than the bits that make me wish I cried easier over books.

I've always been taller than most, larger than most. It runs in my family. When I was a boy, people took me to be older than I was and often expected more of me - more common sense, usually - than I could come up with at the time. I got pretty good at pretending I understood more than I did, a skill which has served me through life. I say this because I want you to realize that I am not by any means a saint. My life does not compare with my grandfather's. I get much more respect than I deserve. This seems harmless enough in most cases. People want to respect the pastor and I'm not going to interfere with that. But I've developed a great reputation for wisdom by ordering more books than I ever had time to read, and reading more books, by far, than I learned anything useful from, except, of course, that some very tedious gentlemen have written books. This is not a new insight, but the truth of it is something you have to experience to fully grasp.

The last sentence brings me particular delight.

(The title of the blog post is a sentence that appears often in the book. I love the things he considers.)