I seldom buy stuff for myself, and usually when I do I usually end up feeling a bit guilty…. EXCEPT when buying books. It’s one of those things I have always considered worth buying. For all the plainness of monochromatic words against colourless paper, I still find books to be one of the enriching forms of published print money can buy. It’s like you’ve just purchased yourself a whole new adventure right in the palm of your hand.
I marched into Borders on Saturday and walked out with two more books on an growing list of reading material that were bought-but-yet-to-be-read.
This time round, I walked out with John Steinback’s ‘Mice And Men’ and ‘The Life of Pi’ by Yann Martel. The last time, it was ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ by Charles Dickens and ‘The Witch of Portabello’ by Paulo Coelho… both of which I haven’t completed reading. A Tale of Two Cities’ because gosh… Charles Dickens writes in such long sentences my eyes started to hurt from reading them. Paulo Coelho’s easier to read of course, but I haven’t started in fear that once I do, I won’t stop till it’s finished (a common when reading a really good book… which I’m hoping it is). Perhaps I’ll start at the end of the year when things slow down a bit.
But for now, I’m starting with ‘Mice And Men’… mainly because it’s the shortest of the lot
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