People never explain to you exactly what they think and feel and how their thoughts and feelings work, do they? They don't have time. Or the right words. But that's what books do. It's as though your daily life is a film in the cinema. It can be fun, looking at those pictures. But if you want to know what lies behind the flat screen you have to read a book. That explains it all.
I did something rather unusual for me today.
A snapshot in that moment would have revealed what seemed to be a stunned ostrich. A beakful of worms. [Do they even eat worms?]
The fact that we are I don't know how many millions of people, yet communication, complete communication, is completely impossible between two of those people, is to me one of the biggest tragic themes in the world.
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. 
For the past ten days I've been immersed in this 1990 Booker Prize-Winning novel, by A.S. Byatt.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
I did not know how much I love the trumpet, until today.
I love hamburger. And beer.
I cannot bear not to know the end of a tale. I will read the most trivial things – once commenced – only out of a feverish greed to be able to swallow the ending – sweet or sour – and to be done with what I need never have embarked on. Are you in my case? Or are you a more discriminating reader? Do you lay aside the unprofitable?
There are things that happen and leave no discernible trace, are not spoken or written of, though it would be very wrong to say that subsequent events go on indifferently, all the same, as though such things had never been.
There may be fairies at the bottom of the garden. There is no evidence for it, but you can't prove that there aren't any, so shouldn't we be agnostic with respect to fairies? 
I did something entirely out of character yesterday. Sunday.
For as long as I can recall being alive [which is quite a while, and sometimes feels like an entire lifetime] I have loved reading.
Q: Do you have many mental fans? People disguising themselves to get close to you? 
Sometimes certain songs really arrest my attention and I can't help but play them over and over again, usually in my car. But also sitting here at my desk.
As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words. 
I am so NOT a morning person.
As any reader of Bookpuddle knows, I am not a follower of the bestsellers.
There is an epidemic of scientific ignorance in the United States. This isn't surprising, as very few scientific truths are self-evident and many are deeply counterintuitive. It is by no means obvious that empty space has structure or that we share a common ancestor with both the housefly and the banana. It can be difficult to think like a scientist (even, we have begun to see, when one is a scientist). But it would seem that few things make thinking like a scientist more difficult than an attachment to religion.
No testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle unless the testimony be of such a kind that its falsehood would be more miraculous than the fact which it endeavours to establish.
It's amazing that the amount of news that happens in the world every day always just exactly fits the newspaper. 
