This is the first book in awhile that I’ve only taken a day to consume. It was beautiful; especially because right now this quote resonates:

“Wherever I sat – on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok – I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.”

This is one of my favourite books, period.

I think I dislike the reality the book brought me more than I dislike the book itself. Margaret lives a crazy passionate life, full of young sex and lack of parental guidance of any sort. Her father, on the other hand, lives life as a controlling recluse, egotistical while despising others like him, and disturbingly obsessed with cults. I don’t often read memoirs, because usually when I read them about authors my opinion of them is changed; they become too human, or at least possess characteristics which I would rather not know about.

All in all, it’s an all right book, even considering she strays off topic more than once and randomly goes back and forth in time, confusing the hell out of me.

Some of those stories I’ve completely forgotten, but others have stuck with me permanently.

I’ll never forget Teddy.

Hey, there’s no fighting in the war room!

If you haven’t seen this movie yet, I feel sorry for you.

This movie really made me miss Paris. It was excellent!