Kindle Notes & Highlights
Writing was already my good excuse for almost anything that needed excusing. Much did.
My roommate, needless to say, never became my friend, much less a buddy, barely an acquaintance. Good looks went bad in a hurry. Botticelli, Caravaggio all mutated almost overnight into Hieronymus Bosch.
I visited the enormous, ostentatious temple to Latter-day Saints, who must have been saintly indeed to feel at home inside an edifice so monstrously vulgar.
So the answer lay in the question, the question in the answer,
