I often wonder whether, in the long, still reaches of the night, our intellectuals hold themselves in contempt. Surely they have enough self-knowledge to know themselves to be imposters? Where are our recent Bach, Shakespeare, Rembrandt, Hume, Gibbon?
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I often wonder whether, in the long, still reaches of the night, our intellectuals hold themselves in contempt. Surely they have enough self-knowledge to know themselves to be imposters? Where are our recent Bach, Shakespeare, Rembrandt, Hume, Gibbon?
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