I am in love with words. Few things excite me as much as a well expressed idea. There is a romance to a thought expressed with perfect clarity - precise and enticing. Language and style is the first instance of attraction. An idea might excite me, yet shabbily expressed it would a thorough turn off. I might as well give up on it.

When did I become this creature, caught up in the delight of words? I cannot empathize with people who can read anything. If reading is something I do voluntarily, then a beautiful play of words is a per-requisite. Of necessity, I would wade through articles, piles of writing, trying to understand concepts and ideas.