"For us, our house is not insentient matter—it has a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies; it is of us, and we are in its confidence, and live in its grace and in the peace of its benediction. We never come home from an absence that its face does not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome—and we can not enter it unmoved."
—Mark Twain, 1896
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Saturday, November 12, 2011


Reading makes me happy. It is my therapy and calms me (not that I need calming).

Reading feeds my soul and introduces me to a multiplicity of people. Some, I actually like and really miss when the journey concludes. Peculiar as in creepy. Right? Well then, you must not be a reader.

Oh my.

The journeys you'll never take;
the adventures you’ll never have;
 the people you'll never meet.
 Oh my

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