Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.
Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.
We are what we love to read, and when we admit to loving a book, we admit that the book represents some aspect of ourselves truly, whether it is that we are suckers for romance or pining for adventure or secretly fascinated by crime.
…and I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.