I welcomed an old friend into my bosom this weekend... no nothing like that... I revisited with Jane Eyre a story I had not gotten lost in, in some time. It was a nice reunion. How I cried when Jane came back to her poor, tortured, wounded Rochester.

I'm such a sap.

(Either that or I was born in the wrong time.)

Romance is nice when it belongs to others.

That's the only kind I seem fit to risk.