Paris Review-The Art of Fiction No. 200, John Banville
I especially love Emerson. Each of his essays is a collection of impassioned sentences. It seems as if there’s a sense of order in the usual sense, but in fact there are just wonderfully rich congeries of sentences. I am inclined to think that the value of a philosopher’s thought is always reflected in his style—mind you, where does that leave Kant and Hegel?