In the dedication of his translation of the Aeneid, old Johnny Dryden talks about why he prefers epic poetry over drama.
Still reading? Excellent, you’re a total nerd. Dryden’s take: watching a play is a quick fix; it gets you worked up for a few hours, but can never really allow you to marinate on its ideas the way contemplative reading can:
A poet cannot speak too plainly on the stage; for volat irrevocabile verbum;* the sense is lost, if it be not taken flying; but what we read alone, we have leisure to digest. There an author may beautify his sense by the boldness of his expression, which if we understand not fully at the first, we may dwell upon it till we find the secret force and excellence.
I think he’d feel the same way about the internet. It’s like a Barnes & Noble minus the cozy chairs. I’m probably losing brain cells left and right because of the constant carnival barker barrage of information; so in exchange, give me a quiet corner or two. For some quality excellence dwelling.
*Horace, Epistle 13, line 71: “A word spoken is past recalling.”