William Shakespere wrote, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts…” The same comparison could be said between life and a book. I have a Grisham novel sitting on my bookshelf. I’m about a [...]
William Shakespere wrote, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts…”
The same comparison could be said between life and a book.
I have a Grisham novel sitting on my bookshelf. I’m about a third of the way into the book, but I just haven’t had time to finish it. It’s just sitting there — paused, on hold — waiting for me to pick it back up.
About 99.9% of the time, I think I’m anxious for the turn of the page. A new day. The next chapter. Excited to see what happens. Life is full of new chapters and most of the time I’m interested to read on.
But I’m sitting here thinking and for some reason, I wish I could just put the bookmark in and set it on the shelf for a while. Ever feel that way?