To be wildly, desperately, carelessly, nakedly in love, of course. Crazy, obsessive love: brooding, baying at the moon, writing daily missives to the adored. Who wouldn’t want this? Even though the crash is painful.
Originally asked
Vanity Fair, to its interview subject, The Proust Questionnaire
Verbatim recurring item in Vanity Fair's Proust Questionnaire; two publisher-hosted respondent pages establish institutional recurrence.
You answer as yourself. Nobody on FLAPSS answers as anybody else.
The Proust Questionnaire, Vanity Fair, 8 September 2017 source ↗
Others on this question
View all 166 →I’m walking down the street angrily muttering to myself and then I run into a neighbor or former coworker and they catch me in this moment of private-public expression. It’s nice to be seen sometimes.
Cuddling in bed on a Sunday morning with the man I love. Also, applause and standing ovations.
At sunset or under the stars on the dock of our lake house just being with my family and pals.
More from Bob Schieffer
View profile →Absentmindedness.
Failure to be on time.
When I finished writing a book.
Talking too much.
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