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Tom Morton

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Tom’s Bookshelves

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Tom is Currently Reading

Tom Morton is currently reading

The Divorce

by Freida McFadden (Goodreads Author)

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May 26, 2026 04:18PM

Tom Morton is currently reading

The Caretaker

by Marcus Kliewer (Goodreads Author)

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May 25, 2026 07:44PM

Tom Morton is currently reading

The DOSE Effect: An Inspiring Self-Healing Guide About the Mind-Body-Hormonal Connection, Achieve Wellness and Happiness with Practical Techniques!

by T.J. Power

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May 22, 2026 07:18PM

Tom’s Notes & Highlights

Heart the Lover by Lily King

1 note & 1 highlight

I laugh. I’m incapable of understanding his dilemma. It feels completely made up to me. I’ve noticed that about people who had stable childhoods. They like to create their own problems.

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“If I woke in the night and heard footsteps in the hall, I would not immediately assume it was an ostrich. Why would I? Ostriches are things that happen to other people, far away, in countries more Serengeti-adjacent. If you want to tell me your saga of your encounter with an ostrich, I will listen appreciatively, but it’s just not something I worry about happening to me.”
― T. Kingfisher, What Feasts at Night

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“Asya, my grandmother said, don’t complicate the point. We named you after a whole continent and you’re filming a park.”
― Aysegül Savas, The Anthropologists

3 likes

“Polly, she stabbed you with a fork today. She’s not giving you her baby.”
― Freida McFadden, The Crash

1 likes

“Now that I sit beside you and talk to you it is strange for me to think of the future, for in the future—there is loneliness again, again this musty, useless life; and what shall I have to dream of when I have been so happy in reality beside you!”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

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“My God, how she cried out! How she started! How she tore herself out of my arms and rushed to meet him! I stood and looked at them, utterly crushed. But she had hardly given him her hand, had hardly flung herself into his arms, when she turned to me again, was beside me again in a flash, and before I knew where I was she threw both arms round my neck and gave me a warm, tender kiss. Then, without saying a word to me, she rushed back to him again, took his hand, and drew him after her.”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

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