drop everything and read this
…then don’t pick anything back up.
The Guardian publishes a great essay on the virtue of idleness. So, so great. My favorite extract:
When the sickly velvet-coated dandy Robert Louis Stevenson fell ill in 1873, aged 23, the diagnosis was “nervous exhaustion with a threatening of phthisis” and the prescription was a winter on the Riviera, “in complete freedom from anxiety or worry”. Once upon a time, we knew how to be ill. Now we have lost the art.
(via Crooked Timber)
