The girl whose table I occupied was reading a book but I couldn’t help but notice that all this time, she was secretly watching me.
“You are beautiful.”
I took my eyes off my phone and I saw the girl talking to me. I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say or how to react.

A woman reading Playboy feels a little like a Jew reading a Nazi manual.

Looking in the mirror, I saw a joyful face. And this happy girl was just about to go on a trip, with a one way ticket in her bag. Life was a never ending journey.

If you don’t like to read, you haven’t found the right book.

In the case of good books, the point is not to see how many of them you can get through, but rather how many can get through to you.

Reading books exposes us to the consistency and uniqueness of being human. Book reading is an investigatory process. We read books in order to encounter the orchestrated words that describe emotions and observations that we too have experienced but are unable to glean the right alignment of words that fully embody the resonance that we seek.