I’ve decided that I don’t like Stephen King. For me, a King novel is like a Big Mac; every six months or so I get a craving for one, convince myself I’m enjoying it, but ten minutes after finishing it the regret sets in.
“Love isn’t just wanting another person the way you want to own an object you see in a store. That’s just desire. You want to have it around, take it home and set it up somewhere in the apartment like a lamp.”
I’m on a bit of a US politics bender at the moment. And with the political intrigue floating around Donald Trump at the moment, there’s a queue of books being released to satisfy my reading desires.
“But one thing I was perfectly certain about. Reality or night-mare, I needed a drink as I had seldom needed one before.
I’ve just read…Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie.