Something can be pause for thought, a good hearty laugh, or a chance for learning and discovery.
Sometimes, when life is busy or tough, knowing your comfort zone and residing there is good and, even more, necessary. Sometimes you need to push the reading envelope a little.
How did all this happen? Why are these Mirandas in such fierce competition. What can I do to avoid it all again?
So, why am I angry? I’m angry for the way that we lost him. That we had to lose him at all. What I want to say here, falls apart. I stare at this paragraph and the screen blurs. It is futile and it is anger. It is loss.
And now that the world has lost such a fine mind, a novelist, a scientist, a local, and a woman with a way with words, I can only stare numbly at the gap in my bookshelf.
This is for you, Mister Asimov. This is my unwritten letter. With the warmest of affection and the greatest of admiration.
We all have our natural inclinations, but it doesn’t have to be the whole of us.
I value my privacy, but there’s nothing to hide. There’s not a single book I’m ashamed to have read. Not even the ones I regret reading (because I could have spent the time reading something better). A book’s a book.