Love, as I’ve seen, comes in many different shapes and sizes. Perhaps not knowing Mrs. Right’s appearance is why she has eluded me so. Yet I know she’s out there by the effects she has on me. She is the melody I whistle when I’m happy; the last image in my head as I fade to sleep; the first thought as I slowly wake each day. More »

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How can I describe you when I only need you to pull me out of the bottomless pit of my self-absorption? If I could imagine you, I wouldn’t need you.

But I want someone who takes life seriously—who reads Jane Austen for the story and not the cover picture of Mr. Darcy with his cravat undone, and who isn’t in the foreground of all her Facebook pictures. I’m sorry, but the picture should be “the Taj Mahal” and not “I went to India.” And most of all, who doesn’t think I’m a snob for saying all that; because a snob is another sort of person who likes things for some other reason (the distinction they give him) than what they actually are. More »

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