Jacob Frost

“You should date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”
― Rosemarie Urquico

“Faith begins precisely where thinking leaves off.”
― Kierkegaard

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.”
― Alfred Tennyson

“If you’re lucky, in, let’s say eighty years, you close your eyes for the last time. Your children, grandchildren, friends, and family, whoever you still have left, if anyone, attend your funeral. They cry for a little while. Then, they mostly move on. They have to in order to survive themselves. In two hundred years, all direct traces of you are lost. Memories of you—how you looked, talked, and acted, what you did and didn’t do, the distant blur of your story—have all dissolved away with the last person who knew of you. By then, all perceptions of you had become inaccurate distortions and projections anyway, void of any authentic connection. If you did something especially noteworthy during your lifetime, direct traces of you may endure for a little longer. But not much longer. In one hundred thousand years, the twenty-first century is but a strange section in the record of history, occasionally reflected on by individuals who no longer relate to it in any meaningful way. Five million years. Most of the Earth’s species that existed during your lifetime are extinct due to the background extinction rate. They have all been replaced with new species. One billion years. There is no life left on Earth. 5.5 billion years. The sun cools and expands, consuming Earth completely. A once-lively planet billions of years old is wiped out without a trace—a grand finale of a light show with no ovation. The sun is dead. The Earth is gone. The universe doesn’t notice. There is so much time left. One hundred trillion years. The last remaining stars begin to die, fading out and burning up. The tombstones of newly formed black holes mark their gravesites. The universe becomes an expanding graveyard of the bones of evaporating stars. One duodecillion. Black holes swallow all the remaining stray matter in the universe. They will soon be all that remains. We will be here a while. Most of the universe’s lifetime is spent in these demented elderly years. Between one googol and one googolplex. The last massive black hole evaporates. One last explosion of light and energy occurs, closing the final eye of the universe. Time is no longer. Everything that has ever happened has now, as far as everything is concerned, never happened. The universe returns to nothing, and nothing happens forever.”
― Robert Pantano, The Art of Living an Absurd Existence: Paradoxes and Thought Experiments That Change the Way You Think