The chill is in the air. It's snowing somewhere, and I'm lingering indoors--gazing out at the clear blue sky and knowing that the cold will seep into my bones as soon as I step outside. On days like this, I long to curl up with a good book, letting the words pour over me. I imagine other times, places, loves, and a life that could never be my own. I'm inspired. I muse about the meaning of life--the interconnectedness of books (and of us all). And, then, I go on about my day.

Those moments of the pure bliss of being lost in a book are cherished. Do you dream of reading by the fire, or perhaps you'd rather curl up in a comfy chair by the window--in the warm rays of the sun--to devour the lines?

In Walden, Henry David Thoreau tells us:

"Like the wasps, before I finally went into winter quarters in November, I used to resort to the northeast side of Walden, which the sun, reflected from the pitch pine woods and the stony shore, made the fireside of the pond; it is so much pleasanter and wholesomer to be warmed by the sun while you can be, than by an artificial fire. I thus warmed myself by the still glowing embers which the summer, like a departed hunter, had left."

Join our discussions about Walden.

Cover Art © Cambridge University Press.

Circumstances in life so often take us in direction we could not have imagined. Who's to say where we could be (or the person we could become)--given an unfortunate series of events. What are we capable of? What would we do to survive?

I guess that's part of what fascinates me about Daniel Defoe's Moll Flanders (review), one of the first English novels, published in 1722. We learn of her many misadventures, but we also find that hidden hope (or at least self-preservation). We don't ever really know our capabilities--strengths and weaknesses--until we face those grim, brutal realities.

In the novel, we read (Chapter 10): "All that hellish, hardened state and temper of soul, which I have said so much of before, is but a deprivation of thought; he that is restored to his power of thinking, is restored to himself."

Cover Art © Modern Library.

I love time-travel stories--the idea that time can fold, bend, and/or warp (. But, then, time takes on a different feel in everyday life. Some days feel as though they run together--so much to do and not enough time. It feels as though I'm outside of time, trying to figure out where all the moments are going.

Stories like Rip Van Winkle give us a glimpse into what can happen in a time-travel scenario. (Of course, there are those who say that who wouldn't want to run off and pretend to have been lost in time if one had a wife like that...) But, there are so many other famous tales. What about The Time Machine? What other novels have you enjoyed? Have you ever imagined yourself in a time-travel experience? Take a look at other time-traveling adventures.

How is the coming of dawn and daybreak associated with heartbreak (or joy)? There's love, love lost, and all the iterations of stress and life (and there's also all the flip-side emotions). The sun, moon and stars inculcate themselves into our everyday--sometimes seeming to offer commiseration and remembrance. Does all of nature seem to feel your pains and joys? So many writers have written about the phenomenon (and of course, in our imaginings, all sorts of representations of reality are possible).

A French writer, Arthur Rimbaud, is Le Bateau Ivre (The Drunken Boat) and for the short time he wrote--from 16 to 21. Born on October 20, 1854, he became an adventurer (Egypt, Ethiopia, Ogadain, and beyond). He wrote: "But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter." Take a look at more quotes.