A Few of My Favorite Books

“One glance at a book and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for a thousand years. To read is to voyage through time.”
— Carl Sagan

Growing up, we did not have a television until I was sixteen. I learned to read at the age of six, and ever since, books have been constant companions in my life.

Some I discovered as a child, when my father read to me in the evenings. Others appeared later during long train rides, student years, or quiet weekends. A few I return to again and again.

Books allowed me to see the world long before I could travel. Through them I experienced times in which I never lived. I became an explorer, a diver, a pilot trying to survive after an engine failure, a submarine captain, a time traveler, a wandering knight, a peasant, a disillusioned soldier, and at one point even a female cat.

This page is not meant to be a formal list of “great literature.” Instead, it is a personal collection of books that shaped my imagination, made me laugh, or helped me think differently about the world.

I have not covered even half of my favorite books yet — this page will continue to grow.

Books I Return To

Some books you read once. Others stay with you for life.

Humor & Childhood Favorites

Baron Münchhausen

One of my favorite childhood books is The Surprising Adventures of Baron Münchhausen. I must have been about five or six years old when my father was reading it to me. I remember those evenings very well, because every half a page my father would burst out laughing — sometimes so hard that tears were running down his face.

At the time I simply enjoyed the stories, but later I learned that the famous book by Rudolf Erich Raspe was partly based on tales told by a real person: Hieronymus Karl Friedrich von Münchhausen.

The real Baron served in the Russian Imperial Army, took part in several campaigns, and was stationed in Riga. In Baltic German noble circles, storytelling was a popular pastime. Gentlemen entertained each other with imaginative accounts of hunting trips, military adventures, and improbable exploits. Münchhausen became famous for telling particularly extravagant stories about himself.

Raspe, who first published the stories in the late 18th century, was a fascinating character himself — a librarian, scholar, and (unfortunately) also something of a con artist. It is very likely that he embellished or even invented some of the adventures that later became part of the legend.

The Baron’s exploits are wonderfully absurd. Among them:

  • flying through the air while riding on a cannonball (not recommended by my patients. One star.)
  • visiting the Moon (recent experience suggests this requires more preparation than initially anticipated)
  • suturing his horse back together with a laurel tree after it had been cut in half (current trauma surgery standards do not support this approach)
  • shooting a deer with a cherry pit, only to later find a cherry tree growing from the animal’s head (my gardener found this idea inspirational. I found this concerning)

These stories belong to that delightful category of literature where imagination is allowed to run completely wild.

I strongly recommend reading Baron Münchhausen to children. The stories are unforgettable — and judging from my father’s reaction, they are just as entertaining for adults.

Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)

While life is serious and often full of tragedy and drama, I also enjoy books that lift the spirits with simple comedy and humor. One of those books is Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog), written by Jerome K. Jerome and published in 1889.

Jerome was originally asked to write a travel guide about the River Thames. I can easily imagine another writer producing a long, boring, and absolutely dull book filled with historical references, descriptions of nature and weather, measurements of the river’s current, and average monthly temperatures.

Instead, Jerome wrote something completely different: a fictional account of four friends (one of whom has four legs) traveling along the Thames.

The story constantly wanders into digressions that seem unrelated to the main plot, yet somehow those distractions become the best parts of the book. Thanks to Jerome’s talent, the novel remains a reliable source of laughter and good mood for me.

Even today I can quote entire passages by memory — the famous Irish stew, the legendary cheese with a two-hundred-horsepower scent, and of course Uncle Podger, a character whose name we still use whenever someone tries to fix something and somehow manages to involve every single person in the household.

Perhaps the reason the book still works more than a century later is that the characters feel completely modern. Their laziness, enthusiasm, misplaced confidence, and endless ability to complicate simple tasks are instantly recognizable. Technology changes, but human nature does not. Jerome understood this perfectly — and that is why the book remains funny long after Victorian England has faded into history.

Adventure & Survival

Robinson Crusoe

Robinson Crusoe is another all-time favorite of mine. Written by Daniel Defoe and first published in 1719, the novel tells the story of a man who survives a shipwreck and lives alone on a deserted island for twenty-eight years.

My first impression of the story came from a children’s adaptation. In the Soviet Union, such adaptations usually excluded references to God or religion, so I was later surprised to discover how prominent they are in the original novel.

What mattered to me then — and still does today — is that the story is fundamentally about survival, ingenuity, and hard work. Crusoe slowly builds a life for himself using patience, creativity, and relentless effort.

While the novel has inspired many film adaptations, the modern work that best captures its spirit for me is Cast Away with Tom Hanks. The film reflects something about our own time: a society that is highly goal-oriented, driven by schedules and deadlines, and prone to wasteful habits. In the process, we sometimes forget how to live simply and appreciate the small pleasures of life.

Treasure Island

I first read Treasure Island in early middle school, and for boys of that age growing up in the USSR it was pure magic.

Treasure hunts, old maps, secret clues, hidden islands, mutiny, and buried gold — this was exactly the kind of world that spilled out of books and into real life. My schoolmates, neighborhood boys, and I played treasure-hunting games all the time, drawing maps, inventing secret signs, and hiding “treasures” in courtyards, garages, and nearby woods.

The fascination was never just the pirates themselves. It was the mystery of clues, the thrill of decoding maps, and the idea that adventure might be hiding just beyond the next corner.

A small life lesson came with this book as well. Our librarian once gave me advice that stayed with me forever:

When you go to the shelves, find the book with the most worn-out cover. That’s the one you want to read.

That was how I found some of my favorite books, including this one.

Captain Blood

I came to Captain Blood a little later, in high school. Perhaps it was slightly late for the full pirate-romantic effect, but I still enjoyed it tremendously.

Peter Blood is one of those rare literary heroes who combines courage with intelligence. He begins as a physician, is swept into injustice and exile, and reinvents himself through skill, discipline, and leadership at sea.

At the time I had not yet chosen medicine as a career, but looking back, I sometimes wonder whether the image of a physician navigating chaos, danger, and impossible circumstances left a deeper mark on me than I realized.

Perhaps it did.

The Geography of Bliss

I first learned about this book while watching The Colbert Report, where the author, Eric Weiner, gave a short interview to Stephen Colbert. It was funny. Then I listened to the book, and it turned out to be not only funny but also deeply resonant with my own philosophy of life.

This is another book I keep recommending to friends and family so often that my wife has forbidden me to mention it again. Thank god for this website. Now I can simply refer people here and recommend a book that teaches us to cherish the little things in life and stop chasing expensive cars, watches, and pens.

Science Fiction

Jules Verne

I don’t remember whether I read Jules Verne first or H. G. Wells. Both are often considered the fathers of science fiction. The main difference between them, at least in my mind, is that Jules Verne tended to write about things that eventually did happen.

He imagined the practical invention of the submarine long before it became reality. In Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Captain Nemo commands the Nautilus, using it both for exploration and for helping oppressed peoples fight for freedom. Verne also wrote about air travel and even journeys to the Moon long before such things became technologically possible.

Herbert G. Wells

And then there is H. G. Wells, who wrote about things that, thankfully, never happened — at least as far as we know.

He imagined alien invasions of Earth, the invention of a time machine, and even human invisibility long before James Bond received his first invisible car.

As a side note: in 1938 Orson Welles produced a famous radio adaptation of
The War of the Worlds.

It was broadcast in the style of breaking news reports describing a Martian invasion. Because of its realism, some listeners believed the events were actually happening, leading to a brief but memorable wave of public panic.

Isaac Asimov

Isaac Asimov was born in a Jewish family in what is now the Russian Federation, and his family immigrated to the U.S. when he was a toddler. A first-generation immigrant and lifelong learner, he originally hoped to become a physician but was not accepted into medical school. Instead, he became a biochemistry professor at Boston University — a fortunate turn for literature, as it allowed him the freedom to write prolifically.

While he is best known for his Foundation series, which earned him a Hugo Award, I’m most drawn to I, Robot. There, Asimov not only imagined artificial intelligence but also anticipated its ethical dilemmas. His famous Three Laws of Robotics are still referenced today in discussions about AI ethics and safety.

What I admire most is how his work extends beyond science fiction: in essays and lectures like The Future of Humanity, Asimov addressed overpopulation, gender equity, sustainable technology, and even early concerns about climate instability (which, in the 1970s, included global cooling). He understood that progress isn’t just technological. It has social and ethical sides, too.

“Self-education is, I firmly believe, the only kind of education there is.” – Isaac Asimov

Bonus 1: Isaac Asimov’s Vision Of The Future Letterman
Bonus 2: Isaac Asimov Predicts the Future (1978)

Stanisław Lem

Stanisław Lem, like Asimov, was one of the great 20th-century writers of speculative fiction — and also of Jewish descent. Born in Lwów (now Lviv, Ukraine), he studied medicine at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków under pressure from his father. Though he completed the coursework, he refused to take the final diploma, opting instead for an absolutorium. He briefly worked in an obstetrics ward but ultimately abandoned medicine to write full time. We’re lucky he did.

Lem had a relentless imagination and a sharp wit, and both are fully present in his writing. While Solaris remains his best-known work — and one of my favorites — I first encountered Lem through Tales of Pirx the Pilot. That collection follows a young space cadet evolving into a seasoned professional, subtly exploring human nature, decision-making under uncertainty, and repeated confrontations with artificial intelligence.

In The Invincible, Lem dives into swarm intelligence and AI’s capacity for independent evolution, decades before these ideas became widespread. Meanwhile, The Star Diaries of Ijon Tichy offer comical, satirical tales of a self-important space traveler who finds himself bumbling through alien civilizations, highlighting absurdities of both human and extraterrestrial societies.

“Futurology is much more about us than about the future.” – Stanisław Lem

Robert Sheckley

In my opinion, Robert Sheckley is the most American science fiction writer ever. His short stories felt unmistakably foreign when I first read them in middle and high school in the USSR, yet the humor was completely universal. He combined speculative imagination with irony, absurdity, and a deep understanding of how irrational systems can still feel strangely believable.

His stories often begin with a simple futuristic premise and then spiral into social satire, exposing how human greed, bureaucracy, vanity, or blind adherence to rules can make even advanced civilizations behave ridiculously.

One of my favorites is The Tenth Victim, where violence is transformed into an organized social institution. It is clever, darkly funny, and still feels surprisingly modern in an age of entertainment-driven culture.

Another unforgettable story is A Ticket to Tranai, which begins as a search for a perfect utopian society and gradually reveals that every “ideal” system hides absurd trade-offs and unintended consequences. For someone interested in decision-making and systems design, that one is especially delightful.

Another story that deeply resonates with me is Prospector’s Special. It takes place during a gold rush on Venus, where prospectors keep talking about a mysterious luxury drink supposedly ordered by only the luckiest gold finders, yet no one seems to have actually tried it. Intrigued? Go on — it’s a short read.

I also loved his stories about Gregor and Arnold from the AAA Ace Interplanetary Decontamination Service. The two partners constantly get into trouble thanks to their adventurous spirit, but usually find a way out using mostly street smarts and improvisation. The stories I especially enjoyed were The Laxian Key, The Lifeboat Mutiny, and The Necessary Thing.

Bad Medicine is another Sheckley story that resonates with me on a very personal level. It reminds me of provider bias — those moments when we approach a patient whose symptoms do not neatly fit our prior beliefs, expectations, or diagnostic habits.

What makes Sheckley memorable for me is that beneath the humor there is always something deeper: a reminder that systems are only as rational as the people who build them, and that it is always worth taking a second look at our own coordinates.

Douglas Adams

A long time ago, almost immediately after the 9/11 attacks, I had to write a set of workplace instructions for emergency situations—things like bomb threats, major fires, and other truly unpleasant scenarios.

Every single one of those instructions began with:

#1. PLEASE DO NOT PANIC.

At the time, I thought I was being practical. Roughly ten years later, I discovered Douglas Adams and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, where the fictional Guide itself famously begins with the words:

“DON’T PANIC”

written in large, friendly letters.

That alone made me feel an immediate connection.

Adams created a universe where bureaucracy, absurdity, and cosmic indifference are treated with complete seriousness—which somehow makes them even funnier. His writing is deeply sarcastic, but never bitter. He understands that most systems, whether interstellar governments or hospital administration, are held together by improvisation, misplaced confidence, and people pretending they know what they are doing.

This is one reason I tend to believe Adams when, in response to being accused of borrowing ideas from Robert Sheckley, he said he had not actually read Sheckley before writing his own work. There are similarities—especially the satire of bureaucracy and absurd systems—but Adams remains unmistakably British. His humor is drier, quieter, and delivered with the kind of polite calm that makes catastrophe somehow feel civilized.

I highly recommend The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

It is best enjoyed with a proper cup of tea.

Classics

Anton Chekhov

Born in 1860 in the port city of Taganrog near the Azov Sea, Anton Chekhov lived a short but profoundly productive life. Like many authors on this list, Chekhov was drawn to medicine and became a physician — a vocation he practiced even as he built one of the greatest literary legacies in modern literature.

Chekhov began writing out of financial necessity during his medical studies. What started as humor pieces in magazines quickly evolved into a new form of storytelling. He mastered the art of the short story, often writing about the “little man”: someone who does not shape history and will never appear in biographies, but still lives, struggles, hopes, and quietly disappears from the world.

Tragically, Chekhov suffered from tuberculosis for much of his adult life and died in 1904 at the age of 44. He once wrote: “Medicine is my lawful wife and literature is my mistress.” But in truth, he honored them both.

“Man will become better when you show him what he is like.” – Anton Chekhov

Mikhail Bulgakov

Mikhail Bulgakov was born in Kyiv in 1891. He graduated with honors from the Kyiv University School of Medicine and began practicing as a zemsky doctor — a rural physician responsible for all aspects of care, from surgery to infectious disease to trauma, often with minimal resources and complete isolation.

I first encountered Bulgakov as a paramedic student in Russia, exhausted after a grueling 24-hour shift. It was then that I found A Young Doctor’s Notebook. In its crude medical settings and emotional honesty, I saw my own experience mirrored. The connection was instant and enduring.

And then, of course, there is The Master and Margarita. A novel like no other — surreal, satirical, metaphysical, political, and strangely tender.

“Manuscripts don’t burn.” – Mikhail Bulgakov

Historical Novels

Alexandre Dumas

When I think of dignity and grace, the name Athos comes to mind. For loyalty, it is Porthos. For bold action — D’Artagnan. For an upper echelon’s intrigue with subtle, chess-like moves — Aramis. And when I think of revenge, I think of The Count of Monte Cristo.

Although, personally, I see Monte Cristo less as a story of revenge and more as a story of a man who refuses to surrender, even under extraordinary misfortune. Edmond Dantès loses everything, yet instead of breaking, he uses time, knowledge, patience, and discipline to reinvent himself.

What makes both The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo especially interesting is that both were, as we would say today, “inspired by real events.”

The Three Musketeers was based on a semi-fictional work by Gatien de Courtilz de Sandras called Mémoires de M. d’Artagnan, published almost thirty years after the death of the real d’Artagnan.

Courtilz himself was imprisoned in the Bastille several times, where he met Besmaux, a former companion of d’Artagnan. There he heard stories of the famous musketeer’s adventures — some real, some likely invented simply to pass the time in a prison cell.

The memoirs were published with little initial attention, until Alexandre Dumas discovered them and transformed them into literature. He presented them almost as historical accounts, though he certainly “improved” them. How much improvement was truly necessary is hard to say, because d’Artagnan himself was a very real historical figure with a life already full of adventure.

What Dumas unquestionably added was the emotional architecture: tragic romance, unforgettable dialogues, vivid sword fights, and the rhythm of a great adventure novel that made the story irresistible to 19th-century readers.

The real d’Artagnan served not only as a musketeer but also in intelligence work for Cardinal Mazarin. Later, he helped reorganize the restored Musketeers Regiment, eventually serving as captain-lieutenant. He died in battle during the Siege of Maastricht in 1673, struck in the throat by a musket shot.

Interestingly, in March 2026, reports emerged that remains believed to be his may have been found beneath the altar of Saint Peter and Paul Church in Wolder, with DNA testing currently underway.

The Count of Monte Cristo also has roots in historical material — this time from a criminal archive.

The original story came from a case recorded by Jacques Peuchet, a French police archivist, who published it in the early 19th century. It concerned a shoemaker named Pierre Picaud, who was falsely imprisoned after being betrayed by friends motivated by jealousy and greed. After his release, he sought revenge and, yes, even in the original archive, there was a hidden treasure.

But like many archives, it was full of tedious details and lacking literary life.

Once again, Dumas took the raw material, removed the distractions, elevated the social world (because not too many people wanted to read about a shoemaker), added romance, sharpened the dialogue, and constructed the twists and dramatic turns that converted it into a masterpiece.

And here comes the final irony: modern historians suspect that Pierre Picaud himself may also have been fictional.

It seems that working as a police archivist can stimulate the imagination — but it still takes a writer like Dumas to turn records into a legend.

“All for one and one for all.” – The Three Musketeers

Mysteries & Thrillers

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

You can’t talk about mysteries and thrillers without including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He didn’t just create Sherlock Holmes — he created the modern detective story.

In 1876, while studying medicine at the University of Edinburgh, Conan Doyle met Dr. Joseph Bell, a professor of surgery whose remarkable diagnostic skills came from his keen observation of tiny details. Bell could deduce a patient’s background, occupation, and illness from a few simple clues — and this fascinated Doyle. The idea of applying that kind of logic to crime solving eventually germinated into the character of Sherlock Holmes.

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” – Sherlock Holmes

John le Carré

John le Carré was one of my later literary discoveries. His insider knowledge of British intelligence shaped a body of fiction unlike anything else in the genre. His writing is subtle — much of the meaning is implied, becoming fully clear only at the culmination of the plot. His spy world runs on a cruel but consistent moral code.

“The secret world is the real world.” – John le Carré

Robert Littell

We know surprisingly little about Robert Littell — which somehow feels fitting. Born in 1935 in Brooklyn, New York, to a Jewish family of Russian descent, he served in the U.S. Navy, worked as a journalist, and then began writing fiction about the CIA and the Soviet Union with such precision and intimacy that it’s hard to believe he wasn’t part of the cloak-and-dagger world himself.

My first encounter with his work was The Company: A Novel of the CIA. The book is such a gripping read — or listen — that I nearly got into an accident driving to work.

Drama

William Shakespeare

What’s in a name? asks Juliet in Act II, Scene 2 of Romeo and Juliet… Well, everything, and nothing. William Shakespeare is the greatest name in world drama, but his true identity remains a mystery.

What matters is the work. I’ve enjoyed Shakespeare both in masterful Russian translations and in the original English — often with commentary or performance, thanks to modern technology.

My favorites include

  • Sonnets
  • Romeo and Juliet
  • King Lear
  • Othello
  • Hamlet

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose 🌹
By any other name would smell as sweet.”
– Romeo and Juliet

Magical Realism

In my early youth I was something of a literary purist. I divided literature into realistic fiction, science fiction, and “magic.” But the world of literature turned out to be more complicated — and more beautiful for it.

There exists a special category where reality intertwines with magic, where everyday life is pierced by dreams, spirits, parallel dimensions, or inexplicable truths, and where the characters accept these strangenesses as part of life. This genre is known as magical realism.

That’s where I discovered three extraordinary authors:

Gabriel García Márquez

My first encounter with Gabriel García Márquez was through One Hundred Years of Solitude — the novel that brought him international acclaim and the Nobel Prize in Literature.

To put it bluntly: this was not an easy read.

In hindsight, I’d recommend starting with Living to Tell the Tale, a memoir that gently introduces you into his world.

Haruki Murakami

If Latin American magical realism feels like a flamboyant carnival, then the Japanese take, as written by Haruki Murakami, is more like a carefully inked scroll. Every word is placed with the accuracy and silence of traditional calligraphy.

What excites me most in Murakami’s writing are his quotes — moments when the prose lifts off the page and delivers a truth so precise, it stops you in your tracks.

“It’s like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness is a story.”
― Kafka on the Shore

“I dream. Sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do.”
― Sputnik Sweetheart

“Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Only assholes do that.”
― Norwegian Wood

“If you can love someone with your whole heart, even one person, then there’s salvation in life. Even if you can’t get together with that person.”
― 1Q84

“Is it possible, in the final analysis, for one human being to achieve perfect understanding of another?”
― The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Books by Explorers and Scientists

These books have always occupied a special place on my bookshelf — virtual now, though no less treasured. I often return to them because the glimpses they offer into the authors’ perceptions of the world, and of themselves, are both humbling and deeply inspirational.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Most people know Antoine de Saint-Exupéry as the author of The Little Prince. While that masterpiece certainly deserves its reputation, it was only one part of an extraordinary life and literary legacy.

Saint-Exupéry lived during the dangerous early years of aviation, when aircraft were fragile, unreliable, and often lethal. He participated directly in the development of long-distance flight routes and survived multiple crashes and near-fatal incidents.

His books are not merely about airplanes. They are about people willing to risk their lives daily to deliver mail across deserts, mountains, and oceans. They are about duty, loneliness, friendship, courage, and the fragile beauty of our planet when seen from above.

His writing style is unmistakably French: philosophical, elegant, and reflective.

During World War II he served as a reconnaissance pilot for Free France and disappeared during a mission on July 31, 1944. Decades later, a silver bracelet bearing his name and debris from his aircraft were discovered off the coast of Marseille.

Jacques Cousteau

Seventy-one percent of Earth’s surface is covered by water, yet for most of human history it remained almost completely inaccessible.

Jacques Cousteau originally hoped to become a pilot, but injuries sustained in a car accident changed the course of his life. While serving in the French Navy, he began experimenting with underwater breathing systems and eventually co-developed the SCUBA apparatus — or Aqua-Lung — which opened the underwater world to exploration on an unprecedented scale.

Given command of the research vessel Calypso, Cousteau became one of the great explorers of the twentieth century. His work helped popularize oceanography, marine biology, underwater archaeology, and environmental conservation. He was also an early public voice warning about ocean pollution and radioactive waste.

What I love about his books is their spirit of practical curiosity. The underwater world is presented not as fantasy, but as a living system waiting to be understood. Problems are approached matter-of-factly: we encountered this obstacle, discussed it, improvised, and solved it. I deeply enjoy that style of troubleshooting.

The books are also filled with remarkable underwater photography that, at the time, revealed a world most people had never seen.

Richard Feynman

Richard Feynman is often remembered as one of the greatest physicists of the twentieth century, but he was also a brilliant storyteller.

Raised in a family that valued curiosity and education, he studied at MIT and Princeton before joining the Manhattan Project during World War II.

What stayed with me most from his writings are two recurring themes.

First: always ask why. Never accept “that’s just how things are done” as a sufficient explanation.

Second: social conventions, politeness, and institutional habits often interfere with our ability to understand reality clearly.

Feynman writes about science, naturally, but also about people: the strange personalities around him, the absurdities of bureaucracy, practical problem-solving, safecracking at Los Alamos, music, teaching, and the joy of figuring things out.

His books remind me that intelligence and curiosity are not the same thing — and that curiosity is often more important.

Gerald Durrell

The Durrell family was wonderfully eccentric, but Gerald Durrell himself deserves special attention.

Although largely homeschooled and lacking formal academic training, his passion for zoology was so profound that he became one of the great naturalists and conservationists of his era.

Durrell founded his own zoo and traveled extensively collecting animals, often under chaotic and hilarious circumstances. His books combine natural history, travel writing, comedy, and autobiography in a way that feels completely unique.

What makes his writing especially memorable is the warmth with which he describes both animals and people. Even the most absurd characters are treated with affection.

At the same time, it is important to remember that Durrell struggled with alcohol use disorder, and some aspects of his lifestyle are perhaps better admired from a safe literary distance.

During his childhood the family lived on Corfu, an experience immortalized in My Family and Other Animals. If you prefer television adaptations, The Durrells in Corfu captures much of the same charm.

Books About Decision-Making

Decision-making has fascinated me for many years. I’ll skip the textbooks here, but there are a few accessible books you might consider.

How We Decide

This is a well-written and easy-to-read book. However, the author, Jonah Lehrer, was later criticized for misrepresenting several sources. Knowing this, please make an informed decision about whether you’d like to read it.

A few points I still found valuable:

  1. Emotions play an important role in decision-making
  2. Some decisions should be logical and analytical, but others depend on emotional wisdom
  3. If intuition (based on experience) turns on an alarm, it’s worth taking a second look

Thinking, Fast and Slow

A classic exploration of “System 1” (fast, intuitive) and “System 2” (slow, deliberate) thinking — and why both matter.

Dan Ariely

  • Predictably Irrational
  • The Upside of Irrationality
  • The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty