In my younger days it was vodka, whiskey, wine, sex, romantic love, theater, movies, literature, philosophy I got intoxicated with. Nowadays it’s mostly just literature and philosophy. Luckily I take up ideas slowly and forget them fast (some of my friends suggest that this could possibly  be a retarded effect of all the alcohol I got intoxicated with in my younger days), so I can re-read pages again and again on human bondage and liberation by Epicurus, Michel Montaigne, Voltaire, Esther Vilar, Bertrand Russell, Kurt Vonnegut, Manfred Max-Neef and about a dozen of other authors experiencing every  time almost the same thrill I felt when I first read them. Is this an anticipation of the beatitudes promised by Alzheimer ‘s?