This is what my room is beginning to resemble.
Of course, the writing is just a bonus. (A very honest one.)
I am, after all, a pretentious English snob. In the last two days I've spent nearly two hundred dollars at my local Barnes & Noble--and I spent a good three hours there each day. I may have a problem. But books make fantastic friends. Better than the people I know, at any rate.
What's more pretentious than classics? What have I now? Four Hemingway books, two Bronte sisters, H. G. Wells, leather bound omnibuses of Jane Austen and Poe. . . My room wreaks with a pretentious air. It's utterly spectacular.
And, to complete this brilliantly pointless segment of pretentious English media:
1 comment:
An hour spent in a book store is an hour spent letting others live. If you're not careful, you will find yourself running out of time to exterminate those you find repulsive. :P
That poem in the video, it made my day. Thank you.
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