This book came out of nowhere for me from an author I’d never heard of, but I’m paying attention now.

Hunger, violence, longing, and humor: a coming-of-age concoction that's an unexpectedly perfect blend.

Mayle sold us all a downright cozy dream.

“They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried.”

Cormac McCarthy is proof that the rules for writing are only guidelines.

“God, how we get our fingers in each other’s clay.”

There’s something about reading “the best” of something that just feels exciting and as I dabble in my own writing, influential.

The author taps into the current foreboding mood of today.

In terms of parenting and babies, the advice inside has been priceless.

There isn’t one part of this book I didn’t like.

Frankenstein isn’t even the “wretched monster’s” name. It’s the doctor’s.

There’s nothing like the easy escape of an approachable, accessible, ready-to-roll-out-the-gate thriller.

It’s a bit of a rollercoaster to read, equal parts frustrating and sad and enlightening, and by the end surprisingly hopeful and helpful.

This is simplistic humanity to the core, told with no filter and no interest in fluff or for even one more word than necessary.

Amongst the points and anecdotes and advice, it all boils down to one thing: just sit down and do the dang thing.

It’s fun in the same way the dangerous thrill of some youthfully rebellious act is laughable and melodramatic in retrospect.

When quarantined from a global pandemic, you read books about threats to humanity.

Steve Martin. Comedian for humans, dogs, and clearly a man meant to write things.

I felt kind of dumb for not knowing what the hell was going on for a good chunk of the book, but it was still a wild ride.

I feel like sitting and thinking and staring out a rainy window.