If hers was the precise angle of cut crystal flashing in the light,
His was the warm glow of a candle through bone china.
If hers was long-stemmed red roses,
His was garden roses, on a trellis, still growing.
(from Broken Chords by Barbara Snow Gilbert)

I am always in the middle of several books.

I will spend my life throwing myself into every one of my varied interests.

(It's hard to just choose one when I am in love with the entire world.)