Notes
Don't get me wrong, I love the rigors of academic discourse, but sometimes I experience a deep yearning for a Willa Cather-esque life on a Nebraskan farmstead, filled with physical labor and the ruggedness of a life in which your hands become wholesomely filthy.
“I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more... Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great.”
― Willa Cather, My Ántonia