Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman

Daniel Kahneman: The riddle of experience vs. memory

동영상 내용

Everybody talks about happiness these days. I had somebody count the number of books with happiness in the title published in the last five years, and they gave up after about forty and there were many more. There is a huge wave of interest in happiness among researchers. There is a lot of happiness coaching. Everybody would like to make people happier. But in spite of all this flood of work, there are several cognitive traps that sort of make it almost impossible to think straight about happiness and my talk today will be mostly about these cognitive traps. This applies to late people thinking about their own happiness and it applies to scholars thinking about happiness because it turns out we’re just as messed up as anybody else is. The first of these trap is a reluctance to emit complexity. Turns out that the word happiness is just not a useful word anymore because we apply it to too many different things. I think there is one particular meaning to which we might restrict it but by and large, this is something that we’ll have to give up and we’ll have to adopt a more complicated view of what well being is. The second trap is a confusion between experiencing memory. Basically it’s between being happy in your life and being happy about your life or happy with your life. And those are two very different concepts and they’re both lumped in the notion of happiness. And the third is, it’s the focusing illusion. And it’s the unfortunate fact that we can’t think of about any circumstance that affects well being, without distorting its importance. I mean this is a real cognitive trap, there’s just no way of getting it right. Now, I’d like to start with an example of somebody with a question and answer session after one of my lectures reported a story and that with the story, he said he’d be listening to a symphony and it was absolutely glorious music. And at the very end of the recording, there was a dreadful screeching sound. And then he added, really quite emotionally, “It ruined the whole experience.” But it hadn’t. What had ruined were the memory of the experience. He had had the experience. He had had 20 minutes of glorious music. They counted for nothing because he was left with a memory, the memory was ruined and the memory was all that he had gotten to keep. What this is telling us really is that we might be thinking of ourselves and other people in terms of two selves. There is an experiencing self who lives in the present and knows the present, it’s capable of re-living the past. But basically it has only the present. It’s the experiencing self of the doctor approaches you know when the doctor asks, “Does it hurt now, when I touch you here?” And then there is a remembering self. And the remembering self is the one that keeps score and maintains the story of our life and it’s the one that the doctor approaches in asking the question, “How have you been feeling lately?” or “How was your trip to Albania?” or something like that. Those are two very different entities, the experiencing self and the remembering self. And getting confused between them is part of the mess about the notion of happiness. Now, the remembering self is a story teller. And that really starts with a basic response of our memory. It starts immediately. We don’t only tell stories when we set out to tell stories. Our memory tells us stories. That is what we get to keep from our experiences, is a story. And let me begin with one example. This is an old study, those are actual patients undergoing a painful procedure. I won’t go into detail. It’s no longer painful these days but it was painful when this study was running in the 1990s. They’re asked to report of their pain every 60 seconds. And here are two patients. Those are their recordings. And you’re asked, “Who of them suffered more?” And it’s a very easy question. Clearly patient B suffered more. His colonoscopy was longer and every minute of pain that patient A had, patient B had, and more. But now there is another question, “How much did these patients think they suffered?” And here’s the surprise. And the surprise is that patient A had a much worse memory of the colonoscopy than patient B. The stories of the colonoscopies were different and because, a very critical part of the story is how it ends. And neither of these stories is very inspiring or great. But one of them is distinctly worse than the other. And the one that is worse is the one where pain was at its peak at the very end. It’s about story. How do we know that? Because we asked these people after their colonoscopy and much later too, “How bad was the whole thing? In total.” And it was much worse for A than for B in memory. Now this is a direct conflict between the experiencing self and the remembering self. From the point of view of the experiencing self, clearly, B had the worst time. Now, what you can do with patient A and we actually ran clinical experiments and it has been done, and it does work, you could actually extend the colonoscopy of patient A by just keeping the tube in, without jiggling it too much. That will cause the patient to suffer by just a little, and much less than before and if you do that for a couple of minutes, you have made the experiencing self of patient A worse off and you have made the remembering self of patient A a lot better off. Because now you have endowed patient A with a better story, about his experience. What defines a story? And that is true of stories that memory delivers for us and it’s also true of the stories that we make up. What defines a story are changes, significant moments, and endings. Endings are very, very important, and in this case, you know, the ending dominated. Now the experiencing self lives its life continuously. It has moments of experience, one after the other. And you can ask, “What happens to these moments?” And the answer is really straight forward, they’re lost forever. I mean most of the moments of our life, and I calculated, you know, the psychological present is said to be about three seconds long. That means that you know in a life, there are about 600 million of them, in a month there are about 600 thousand. Most of them don’t leave a trace. Most of them, completely ignored by the remembering self. And yet, somehow you get the sense that they should count, that what happens during these moments of experience is our life, it’s the finite resource we’re spending while we’re on this Earth. And how to spend it would seem to be relevant but that is not the story the remembering self keeps for us. So we have the remembering self and the experiencing self and they’re really quite distinct. The biggest difference between them is in the handling of time. From the point of view of the experiencing self, if you have a vacation and the second week is just as good as the first, then the two week vacation is twice as good as the one week vacation. That’s not how it works at all for the remembering self. The two week vacation is barely better than the one week vacation because they’re unknown new memories added. You have not trained the story. And in this way, time is actually the critical variable that distinguishes a remembering self from a experiencing self. Time has very little impact on the story. Now, the remembering self does more than remember and tell stories. It is actually the one that makes decisions because if you have a patient who has had, say, two colonoscopies with two different surgeons and is deciding which of them to choose, then, the one that chooses, the one that has, you know, the memory that is less bad, and that’s the surgeon that will be chosen. The experiencing self has no voice in this choice. We actually don’t choose between experiences. We choose between memories of experiences. And even when we think about the future, we don’t think of our future normally as experiences. We think of our future as anticipated memories. And basically you can look at this, you know, as a tyranny of the remembering self. And you can think the remembering self sort of dragging the experiencing self through experiences that the experiencing self doesn’t need. I have a sense that when we go on vacations, this is very frequently the case, that is, that it’s, we go on vacations to a very large extent in the service of our remembering self. And this is a bit hard to justify, I think, I mean how much do we consume our memories?

Daniel Kahneman: The Trouble with Confidence

Thinking, Fast and Slow

Daniel Kahneman

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

THINKING, FAST AND SLOW (Chapter 1)The Characters of the Story

To observe your mind in automatic mode, glance at the image below.

Figure 1

Your experience as you look at the woman's face seamlessly combines what we normally call seeing and intuitive thinking. As surely and quickly as you saw that the young woman's hair is dark, you knew she is angry. Furthermore, what you saw extended into the future. You sensed that this woman is about to say some very unkind words, probably in a loud and strident voice. A premonition of what she was going to do next came to mind automatically and effortlessly. You did not intend to assess her mood or to anticipate what she might do, and your reaction to the picture did not have the feel of something you did. It just happened to you. It was an instance of fast thinking.

Now look at the following problem:

17 × 24

You knew immediately that this is a multiplication problem, and probably knew that you could solve it, with paper and pencil, if not without. You also had some vague intuitive knowledge of the range of possible results. You would be quick to recognize that both 12,609 and 123 are implausible. Without spending some time on the problem, however, you would not be certain that the answer is not 568. A precise solution did not come to mind, and you felt that you could choose whether or not to engage in the computation. If you have not done so yet, you should attempt the multiplication problem now, completing at least part of it.

You experienced slow thinking as you proceeded through a sequence of steps. You first retrieved from memory the cognitive program for multiplication that you learned in school, then you implemented it. Carrying out the computation was a strain. You felt the burden of holding much material in memory, as you needed to keep track of where you were and of where you were going, while holding on to the intermediate result. The process was mental work: deliberate, effortful, and orderly--a prototype of slow thinking. The computation was not only an event in your mind; your body was also involved. Your muscles tensed up, your blood pressure rose, and your heart rate increased. Someone looking closely at your eyes while you tackled this problem would have seen your pupils dilate. Your pupils contracted back to normal size as soon as you ended your work--when you found the answer (which is 408, by the way) or when you gave up.

Two Systems

Psychologists have been intensely interested for several decades in the two modes of thinking evoked by the picture of the angry woman and by the multiplication problem, and have offered many labels for them. I adopt terms originally proposed by the psychologists Keith Stanovich and Richard West, and will refer to two systems in the mind, System 1 and System 2.

System 1 operates automatically and quickly, with little or no effort and no sense of voluntary control.

System 2 allocates attention to the effortful mental activities that demand it, including complex computations. The operations of System 2 are often associated with the subjective experience of agency, choice, and concentration.

The labels of System 1 and System 2 are widely used in psychology, but I go further than most in this book, which you can read as a psychodrama with two characters.

When we think of ourselves, we identify with System 2, the conscious, reasoning self that has beliefs, makes choices, and decides what to think about and what to do. Although System 2 believes itself to be where the action is, the automatic System 1 is the hero of the book. I describe System 1 as effortlessly originating impressions and feelings that are the main sources of the explicit beliefs and deliberate choices of System 2. The automatic operations of System 1 generate surprisingly complex patterns of ideas, but only the slower System 2 can construct thoughts in an orderly series of steps. I also describe circumstances in which System 2 takes over, overruling the freewheeling impulses and associations of System 1. You will be invited to think of the two systems as agents with their individual abilities, limitations, and functions.

In rough order of complexity, here are some examples of the automatic activities that are attributed to System 1:

Detect that one object is more distant than another.

Orient to the source of a sudden sound.

Complete the phrase "bread and..."

Make a "disgust face" when shown a horrible picture.

Detect hostility in a voice.

Answer to 2 + 2 = ?

Read words on large billboards.

Drive a car on an empty road.

Find a strong move in chess (if you are a chess master).

Understand simple sentences.

Recognize that a "meek and tidy soul with a passion for detail" resembles an occupational stereotype.

All these mental events belong with the angry woman--they occur automatically and require little or no effort. The capabilities of System 1 include innate skills that we share with other animals. We are born prepared to perceive the world around us, recognize objects, orient attention, avoid losses, and fear spiders. Other mental activities become fast and automatic through prolonged practice. System 1 has learned associations between ideas (the capital of France?); it has also learned skills such as reading and understanding nuances of social situations. Some skills, such as finding strong chess moves, are acquired only by specialized experts. Others are widely shared. Detecting the similarity of a personality sketch to an occupational stereotype requires broad knowledge of the language and the culture, which most of us possess. The knowledge is stored in memory and accessed without intention and without effort.

Several of the mental actions in the list are completely involuntary. You cannot refrain from understanding simple sentences in your own language or from orienting to a loud unexpected sound, nor can you prevent yourself from knowing that 2 + 2 = 4 or from thinking of Paris when the capital of France is mentioned. Other activities, such as chewing, are susceptible to voluntary control but normally run on automatic pilot. The control of attention is shared by the two systems. Orienting to a loud sound is normally an involuntary operation of System 1, which immediately mobilizes the voluntary attention of System 2. You may be able to resist turning toward the source of a loud and offensive comment at a crowded party, but even if your head does not move, your attention is initially directed to it, at least for a while. However, attention can be moved away from an unwanted focus, primarily by focusing intently on another target.

The highly diverse operations of System 2 have one feature in common: they require attention and are disrupted when attention is drawn away. Here are some examples:

Brace for the starter gun in a race.

Focus attention on the clowns in the circus.

Focus on the voice of a particular person in a crowded and noisy room.

Look for a woman with white hair.

Search memory to identify a surprising sound.

Maintain a faster walking speed than is natural for you.

Monitor the appropriateness of your behavior in a social situation.

Count the occurrences of the letter a in a page of text.

Tell someone your phone number.

Park in a narrow space (for most people except garage attendants).

Compare two washing machines for overall value.

Fill out a tax form.

Check the validity of a complex logical argument.

In all these situations you must pay attention, and you will perform less well, or not at all, if you are not ready or if your attention is directed inappropriately. System 2 has some ability to change the way System 1 works, by programming the normally automatic functions of attention and memory. When waiting for a relative at a busy train station, for example, you can set yourself at will to look for a white-haired woman or a bearded man, and thereby increase the likelihood of detecting your relative from a distance. You can set your memory to search for capital cities that start with N or for French existentialist novels. And when you rent a car at London's Heathrow Airport, the attendant will probably remind you that "we drive on the left side of the road over here." In all these cases, you are asked to do something that does not come naturally, and you will find that the consistent maintenance of a set requires continuous exertion of at least some effort.

The oft en-used phrase "pay attention" is apt: you dispose of a limited budget of attention that you can allocate to activities, and if you try to go beyond your budget, you will fail. It is the mark of effortful activities that they interfere with each other, which is why it is difficult or impossible to conduct several at once. You could not compute the product of 17 × 24 while making a left turn into dense traffic, and you certainly should not try. You can do several things at once, but only if they are easy and undemanding. You are probably safe carrying on a conversation with a passenger while driving on an empty highway, and many parents have discovered, perhaps with some guilt, that they can read a story to a child while thinking of something else.

Everyone has some awareness of the limited capacity of attention, and our social behavior makes allowances for these limitations. When the driver of a car is overtaking a truck on a narrow road, for example, adult passengers quite sensibly stop talking. They know that distracting the driver is not a good idea, and they also suspect that he is temporarily deaf and will not hear what they say.

Intense focusing on a task can make people effectively blind, even to stimuli that normally attract attention. The most dramatic demonstration was offered by Christopher Chabris and Daniel Simons in their book The Invisible Gorilla. They constructed a short film of two teams passing basketballs, one team wearing white shirts, the other wearing black. The viewers of the film are instructed to count the number of passes made by the white team, ignoring the black players. This task is difficult and completely absorbing. Halfway through the video, a woman wearing a gorilla suit appears, crosses the court, thumps her chest, and moves on. The gorilla is in view for 9 seconds. Many thousands of people have seen the video, and about half of them do not notice anything unusual. It is the counting task--and especially the instruction to ignore one of the teams--that causes the blindness. No one who watches the video without that task would miss the gorilla. Seeing and orienting are automatic functions of System 1, but they depend on the allocation of some attention to the relevant stimulus. The authors note that the most remarkable observation of their study is that people find its results very surprising. Indeed, the viewers who fail to see the gorilla are initially sure that it was not there--they cannot imagine missing such a striking event. The gorilla study illustrates two important facts about our minds: we can be blind to the obvious, and we are also blind to our blindness.

Plot Synopsis

The interaction of the two systems is a recurrent theme of the book, and a brief synopsis of the plot is in order. In the story I will tell, Systems 1 and 2 are both active whenever we are awake. System 1 runs automatically and System 2 is normally in a comfortable low-effort mode, in which only a fraction of its capacity is engaged. System 1 continuously generates suggestions for System 2: impressions, intuitions, intentions, and feelings. If endorsed by System 2, impressions and intuitions turn into beliefs, and impulses turn into voluntary actions. When all goes smoothly, which is most of the time, System 2 adopts the suggestions of System 1 with little or no modification. You generally believe your impressions and act on your desires, and that is fine--usually.

When System 1 runs into difficulty, it calls on System 2 to support more detailed and specific processing that may solve the problem of the moment. System 2 is mobilized when a question arises for which System 1 does not offer an answer, as probably happened to you when you encountered the multiplication problem 17 × 24. You can also feel a surge of conscious attention whenever you are surprised. System 2 is activated when an event is detected that violates the model of the world that System 1 maintains. In that world, lamps do not jump, cats do not bark, and gorillas do not cross basketball courts. The gorilla experiment demonstrates that some attention is needed for the surprising stimulus to be detected. Surprise then activates and orients your attention: you will stare, and you will search your memory for a story that makes sense of the surprising event. System 2 is also credited with the continuous monitoring of your own behavior--the control that keeps you polite when you are angry, and alert when you are driving at night. System 2 is mobilized to increased effort when it detects an error about to be made. Remember a time when you almost blurted out an offensive remark and note how hard you worked to restore control. In summary, most of what you (your System 2) think and do originates in your System 1, but System 2 takes over when things get difficult, and it normally has the last word.

The division of labor between System 1 and System 2 is highly efficient: it minimizes effort and optimizes performance. The arrangement works well most of the time because System 1 is generally very good at what it does: its models of familiar situations are accurate, its short-term predictions are usually accurate as well, and its initial reactions to challenges are swift and generally appropriate. System 1 has biases, however, systematic errors that it is prone to make in specified circumstances. As we shall see, it sometimes answers easier questions than the one it was asked, and it has little understanding of logic and statistics. One further limitation of System 1 is that it cannot be turned off. If you are shown a word on the screen in a language you know, you will read it--unless your attention is totally focused elsewhere.

Conflict

Figure 2 is a variant of a classic experiment that produces a conflict between the two systems. You should try the exercise before reading on.

Figure 2

You were almost certainly successful in saying the correct words in both tasks, and you surely discovered that some parts of each task were much easier than others. When you identified upper-and lowercase, the left-hand column was easy and the right-hand column caused you to slow down and perhaps to stammer or stumble. When you named the position of words, the left-hand column was difficult and the right-hand column was much easier.

These tasks engage System 2, because saying "upper/lower" or "right/left" is not what you routinely do when looking down a column of words. One of the things you did to set yourself for the task was to program your memory so that the relevant words (upper and lower for the first task) were "on the tip of your tongue." The prioritizing of the chosen words is effective and the mild temptation to read other words was fairly easy to resist when you went through the first column. But the second column was different, because it contained words for which you were set, and you could not ignore them. You were mostly able to respond correctly, but overcoming the competing response was a strain, and it slowed you down. You experienced a conflict between a task that you intended to carry out and an automatic response that interfered with it.

Conflict between an automatic reaction and an intention to control it is common in our lives. We are all familiar with the experience of trying not to stare at the oddly dressed couple at the neighboring table in a restaurant. We also know what it is like to force our attention on a boring book, when we constantly find ourselves returning to the point at which the reading lost its meaning. Where winters are hard, many drivers have memories of their car skidding out of control on the ice and of the struggle to follow well-rehearsed instructions that negate what they would naturally do: "Steer into the skid, and whatever you do, do not touch the brakes!" And every human being has had the experience of not telling someone to go to hell. One of the tasks of System 2 is to overcome the impulses of System 1. In other words, System 2 is in charge of self-control.

Illusions

To appreciate the autonomy of System 1, as well as the distinction between impressions and beliefs, take a good look at figure 3.

This picture is unremarkable: two horizontal lines of different lengths, with fins appended, pointing in different directions. The bottom line is obviously longer than the one above it. That is what we all see, and we naturally believe what we see. If you have already encountered this image, however, you recognize it as the famous Müller-Lyer illusion. As you can easily confirm by measuring them with a ruler, the horizontal lines are in fact identical in length.

Figure 3

Now that you have measured the lines, you--your System 2, the conscious being you call "I"--have a new belief: you know that the lines are equally long. If asked about their length, you will say what you know. But you still see the bottom line as longer. You have chosen to believe the measurement, but you cannot prevent System 1 from doing its thing; you cannot decide to see the lines as equal, although you know they are. To resist the illusion, there is only one thing you can do: you must learn to mistrust your impressions of the length of lines when fins are attached to them. To implement that rule, you must be able to recognize the illusory pattern and recall what you know about it. If you can do this, you will never again be fooled by the Müller-Lyer illusion. But you will still see one line as longer than the other.

Not all illusions are visual. There are illusions of thought, which we call cognitive illusions. As a graduate student, I attended some courses on the art and science of psychotherapy. During one of these lectures, our teacher imparted a morsel of clinical wisdom. This is what he told us: "You will from time to time meet a patient who shares a disturbing tale of multiple mistakes in his previous treatment. He has been seen by several clinicians, and all failed him. The patient can lucidly describe how his therapists misunderstood him, but he has quickly perceived that you are different. You share the same feeling, are convinced that you understand him, and will be able to help." At this point my teacher raised his voice as he said, "Do not even think of taking on this patient! Throw him out of the office! He is most likely a psychopath and you will not be able to help him."

Many years later I learned that the teacher had warned us against psychopathic charm, and the leading authority in the study of psychopathy confirmed that the teacher's advice was sound. The analogy to the Müller-Lyer illusion is close. What we were being taught was not how to feel about that patient. Our teacher took it for granted that the sympathy we would feel for the patient would not be under our control; it would arise from System 1. Furthermore, we were not being taught to be generally suspicious of our feelings about patients. We were told that a strong attraction to a patient with a repeated history of failed treatment is a danger sign--like the fins on the parallel lines. It is an illusion--a cognitive illusion--and I (System 2) was taught how to recognize it and advised not to believe it or act on it.

The question that is most oft en asked about cognitive illusions is whether they can be overcome. The message of these examples is not encouraging. Because System 1 operates automatically and cannot be turned off at will, errors of intuitive thought are oft en difficult to prevent. Biases cannot always be avoided, because System 2 may have no clue to the error. Even when cues to likely errors are available, errors can be prevented only by the enhanced monitoring and effortful activity of System 2. As a way to live your life, however, continuous vigilance is not necessarily good, and it is certainly impractical. Constantly questioning our own thinking would be impossibly tedious, and System 2 is much too slow and inefficient to serve as a substitute for System 1 in making routine decisions. The best we can do is a compromise: learn to recognize situations in which mistakes are likely and try harder to avoid significant mistakes when the stakes are high. The premise of this book is that it is easier to recognize other people's mistakes than our own.

Useful Fictions

You have been invited to think of the two systems as agents within the mind, with their individual personalities, abilities, and limitations. I will oft en use sentences in which the systems are the subjects, such as, "System 2 calculates products."

The use of such language is considered a sin in the professional circles in which I travel, because it seems to explain the thoughts and actions of a person by the thoughts and actions of little people inside the person's head. Grammatically the sentence about System 2 is similar to "The butler steals the petty cash." My colleagues would point out that the butler's action actually explains the disappearance of the cash, and they rightly question whether the sentence about System 2 explains how products are calculated. My answer is that the brief active sentence that attributes calculation to System 2 is intended as a description, not an explanation. It is meaningful only because of what you already know about System 2. It is shorthand for the following: "Mental arithmetic is a voluntary activity that requires effort, should not be performed while making a left turn, and is associated with dilated pupils and an accelerated heart rate."

Similarly, the statement that "highway driving under routine conditions is left to System 1" means that steering the car around a bend is automatic and almost effortless. It also implies that an experienced driver can drive on an empty highway while conducting a conversation. Finally, "System 2 prevented James from reacting foolishly to the insult" means that James would have been more aggressive in his response if his capacity for effortful control had been disrupted (for example, if he had been drunk).

System 1 and System 2 are so central to the story I tell in this book that I must make it absolutely clear that they are fictitious characters. Systems 1 and 2 are not systems in the standard sense of entities with interacting aspects or parts. And there is no one part of the brain that either of the systems would call home. You may well ask: What is the point of introducing fictitious characters with ugly names into a serious book? The answer is that the characters are useful because of some quirks of our minds, yours and mine. A sentence is understood more easily if it describes what an agent (System 2) does than if it describes what something is, what properties it has. In other words, "System 2" is a better subject for a sentence than "mental arithmetic." The mind--especially System 1--appears to have a special aptitude for the construction and interpretation of stories about active agents, who have personalities, habits, and abilities. You quickly formed a bad opinion of the thieving butler, you expect more bad behavior from him, and you will remember him for a while. This is also my hope for the language of systems.

Why call them System 1 and System 2 rather than the more descriptive "automatic system" and "effortful system"? The reason is simple: "Automatic system" takes longer to say than "System 1" and therefore takes more space in your working memory. This matters, because anything that occupies your working memory reduces your ability to think. You should treat "System 1" and "System 2" as nicknames, like Bob and Joe, identifying characters that you will get to know over the course of this book. The fictitious systems make it easier for me to think about judgment and choice, and will make it easier for you to understand what I say.

Speaking of System 1 and System 2

"He had an impression, but some of his impressions are illusions."

"This was a pure System 1 response. She reacted to the threat before she recognized it."

"This is your System 1 talking. Slow down and let your System 2 take control."

THINKING, FAST AND SLOW Copyright © 2011 by Daniel Kahneman

참고: http://us.macmillan.com/BookCustomPage_New.aspx?isbn=9780374275631

Daniel Kahneman(대니얼 카너먼)

Daniel Kahneman (Hebrew: דניאל כהנמן‎) (born March 5, 1934) is an Israeli American psychologist and winner of the 2002 Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences. He is notable for his work on the psychology of judgment and decision-making, behavioral economics and hedonic psychology.  With Amos Tversky and others, Kahneman established a cognitive basis for common human errors using heuristics and biases (Kahneman & Tversky, 1973; Kahneman, Slovic & Tversky, 1982; Tversky & Kahneman, 1974), and developed prospect theory (Kahneman & Tversky, 1979). He was awarded the 2002 Nobel Memorial Prize in Economics for his work in prospect theory.  In 2011, he was named by Foreign Policy magazine to its list of top global thinkers.[1] In the same year, his book Thinking, Fast and Slow, which summarizes much of his research, was published and became a best seller.

by Wikipedia



위글은 @primeboy이 제 댓글에 "Thinking, Fast and Slow"를 소개해 주셔서 올렸습니다.

소리(호흡)가 사람의 모습을 다르게 했다
나를 위해 움직이는 세상
새(birds) 같은 가족관계(家族 關係)
사장님, 그라지 도어가 오픈되었는데요
셀린 디온 "타이타닉"

posted by 써니의 뉴욕노트 & 잭스피킹 호흡영어