I have been a huge fan of Henry Miller since I read Tropic of Capricorn many years (ok, decades) ago.  I ran across a later book of his, Books in my Life, and decided to give it a read, mostly on the hope of finding some other good books to read, on his recommendation.  He mentions lots of writers from the previous century that I have heard of and might get around to one day (Hamsun, Rider Haggard, Celine).  But the book rambled on, a bit like listening to a talkative fellow in a bar.  An interesting fellow no doubt, but I kept wondering when he was going to get around to something interesting.  Maybe never, but it was worth soldiering on.

Somewhere around page 200 he goes off on a tangent about Walt Whitman and Dostoevsky.  As good as anything the has ever written.  Been meaning to read Dostoevsky for a long time.   Might have to take the plunge.  After a bit of Krishnamurthy (also from this book by Miller).