Jan Morris On Carpaccio

Not the raw meat dish, silly; she means the painter. “I am no connoisseur, cultural scholar, or art historian. I know nothing about painterly techniques, chromatic gradations, or artistic affinities, and my infatuation with him is largely affectionate fancy. I feel I know him personally, and I often sense that I am directly in touch with him across the centuries, across the continents, as one might be in touch with a living friend. But however much I delight in Carpaccio’s virtual company, I know hardly anything about the man, and in this I am not alone.”

Reading Insecurity: Has The Internet Really Killed Our Ability To Deal With Long Things Like Books?

“Maybe we’ve sensed that we rely on physical cues to ground ourselves in complex arguments, and that we get more of those from books than from flickering screens. … And after centuries of vaunting the solidity of written language, there’s a kind of whiplash in signing on and watching our literary output swoosh by. … Yet the Web giveth, even as it taketh away.”