Okay, I'll admit it. Over Christmas/New Year's just gone, I read a post by Sam Harris, who described this book as good for anyone looking to become more productive in the new year. I don't buy everything he recommends, but somehow the moment was right.
The book was certainly entertaining, but motivational? I wonder. As the pages go by and the habits of all the great artists, philosophers, writers and musicians register in the mind, the dots connect and a pattern emerges; the kind that suggests there is no pattern. Except habit itself.
All the great writers wrote, the thinkers thought, the artists made art. And the in-between drinks, meals, chats, walks and afternoon snoozes were as countless as the hairs on your head. My advice: leave it lying around, pick it up when you've got a moment, and don't look for anything in particular. The particulars are not, very.