you're an empty cave.

you who echoes others' thoughts and opinion

don't you have a mind of your own?

So what's the story, morning glory.

It always amazes me that some people can quote something out from the books that they've read just once. Because i very very very rarely, can.

I rush when i read. A habit of mine that i have had since as far back as i can remember. In fact, most of the time, i feel like i had only manage to gather enough details to link me from one chapter to another without feeling lost. Although this does allow me to read pretty much all i want despite time constraints, i can't help but imagine all those subtle words and nuances that i missed-the little details that makes up the whole story. I feel shortchanged!!

Because reading is not just about finding out the ending. Nor is it just about being able to recount the whole story when someone asks about it. It is about immersing oneself in the language that tells the story, and enjoying it as well.
It is not just about understanding what the writer is trying to tell. It is also about savouring the words that the writer chose to tell her story with.

Imagine if the pages of words is a painting. A quick glance might be able to tell you what the painting is all about- a cottage by a meadow.
But after a closer study, you'll see the peeling paint of the cottage, the weathered roof, the window with one of the green shutters left open and the sheer powder blue curtain that peeks from the openings. And then you'll begin to appreciate how the painter had painstakingly painted minuscule patterns on the sheer curtain and the surroundings of the cottage and how he plays with the colour of the sky so that it would look as if the clouds were illuminated by the rays of lights piercing it.
But the way i'm reading, i might as well have given a sweeping look at the painting and miss that curious looking purple flower by the gravel. Or that tinge of yellow in the sky. Or how bare the meadow would look without that lonely cypress tree at the corner...

shucks. i missed a lot, haven't i?

i started reading Chekhov and knows the meaning of pedagogy because of this man's books.

rest in peace Mr Frank McCourt, sir.

comfort food vs. er, comforting nicotine ?

personally,
between a pack of cream-crackers and a stick of ciggie,
i'll pick the cream-crackers anytime. obviously.

dependency on comfort food is just another type of addiction. eh?

you're still so pretty.

and i still do the same stuff i usually did.

*pic by garance dore.

a morning post.

via FFFFOUND!