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Disease, Pain and Sacrifice: Toward a Psychology of Suffering
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December 13, 2010
A chapter of this book was assigned for a class at seminary. Typically, I had to buy and read the whole book, the idea of reading portions of intended wholes being anathema. Fortunately, the UTS bookstore--ah, such a wonderful bookstore it was!--had a copy, albeit in hardcover and, so, quite expensive--nice cover though.
The cover was the best of it. I found this book to be rather insubstantial. In any case, it didn't leave me with much, but then I probably read the little thing in a sitting, going on immediately to some other assignment. Such is a price of being in school.
I look back now at the money I used to spend on books and I am amazed. The bibliophilia hasn't been cured, but nowadays I confine the indulgence to used bookstores, library, garden and garage sales. Back when I was a poor student, living on work-study pay and financial aid, I'd shell out for brand new books--and not just the ones assigned for class. Once, when called into the Financial Aid Office at seminary, the officer and I went over my expenses. They were, he thought, suspiciously low, much below their estimates for the cost of living in Manhattan. The one exception was the money spent on school supplies, meaning books. There I quite exceeded their estimates. Symptomatically, I was quite proud of myself.
The cover was the best of it. I found this book to be rather insubstantial. In any case, it didn't leave me with much, but then I probably read the little thing in a sitting, going on immediately to some other assignment. Such is a price of being in school.
I look back now at the money I used to spend on books and I am amazed. The bibliophilia hasn't been cured, but nowadays I confine the indulgence to used bookstores, library, garden and garage sales. Back when I was a poor student, living on work-study pay and financial aid, I'd shell out for brand new books--and not just the ones assigned for class. Once, when called into the Financial Aid Office at seminary, the officer and I went over my expenses. They were, he thought, suspiciously low, much below their estimates for the cost of living in Manhattan. The one exception was the money spent on school supplies, meaning books. There I quite exceeded their estimates. Symptomatically, I was quite proud of myself.
Displaying 1 of 1 review