I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
As the writer of a pseudonymous book, I gave up my own accumulated history as a novelist and became what I had been as a child: unnamed, unidentified, unacknowledged. Invisible. In a very real sense, what I hope for in the process of imagining a book is to disappear.
Without whining and without making myself a tragic figure, there is no replacement for the loss of your privacy. It's a huge sacrifice.
The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books.
Books let us into their souls and lay open to us the secrets of our own.
The last refuge of privacy cannot be placed solely in law or technology. It must repose in both, and a thoughtful combination of the two can help us thread a path between having all our secrets trivially discoverable and preserving nothing for our later selves for fear of that discovery.
I really fight for my privacy.
Then I realized that secrecy is actually to the detriment of my own peace of mind and self, and that I could still sustain my belief in privacy and be authentic and transparent at the same time. It was a pretty revelatory moment, and there's been a liberating force that's come from it.
Once you've lost your privacy, you realize you've lost an extremely valuable thing.
You no longer have much in the way of knowing what to do in a big, epic novel about the future, because nobody knows what the hell is going to happen.
My life is now an open book.
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