Reading that book gave her the opportunity to live another life, and that's what reading was all about, she presumed. To experience the things that we would not get the opportunity to have the pleasure of experiencing in our lifetime and under the circumstances of our current lives.

I love winter and I love summer. I love spring and I love autumn. I love it when it's sunny and I love it when it's cloudy. To me, the sun is as beautiful as the moon. I love mountains and I love the beach. I love being dry and I love being wet. Rain, snow, grass, trees, dead leaves. I love them all. I love the smell of the ocean, and the smell of the streets after rain. And sand. And stars. Love those too. I love the feeling of having the sun to my face. When I close my eyes and feel its warmth over my eyelids, seeing it go brightly red. I love colors, all of them. The true colors; red, green, blue, black, purple, yellow, brown, orange, white. I love looking at photos and remembering certain moments. But most of all, I love memories and how they make me feel.

Each man would have to face one disastrous period in his lifetime, like a phantom monster. You either kill it or let it gnaw on you alive until there's nothing left of you but a hollow skeleton.

Don't have vanity ...and you will keep your sanity.

It was a mystery, she reckoned, how bizarre we feel when we look at ourselves and perceive ourselves differently every time: sometimes it feels as if looking at a complete stranger, or sometimes a long lost friend or perhaps even your worst enemy.