On my way… by Marie

Keep holding on to what you love & enjoy the ride of life


Proud of being a girl who reads… but prouder of being a girl who writes ;)

Yesterday, a friend of mine shared a very well-written text of Charles Warnke, and… I loved his words so much that I absolutely had to share his post with you :)!

His article made me kinda proud of being a girl who reads, and yet better (or… maybe worse :p!) a girl who writes :)!

In a few words, Charles Warnke si saying… ‘Date a challenging woman! It might sometimes be hell, but the reward is much sweeter’. He’s saying… ‘Get a little more out of life than the mundane’!

And honestly! How can you not agree when you’re a girl who reads?! How can you not fall in love with this so beautifully written text that makes us justice, that makes justice to all the girls who read?! I’m asking you!

You Should Date An Illiterate Girl


Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.

You may now understand my little prologue a little bit better… And now what about you, girls?

I hope you liked this text and as always…

Keep holding on to what you love & enjoy the ride of life 😉



The book to offer your best friend – LA TECTONIQUE DES PLAQUES by Margaux Motin

Today’s post is dedicated to the last-released book of the 35-year old illustrator, Margaux Motin. This book is in French but very easy to understand, so anyone with the only simple basis in French will be able to read it without any problem 😉 Quite cool, uh?!

Whether you’re a young French girl, or a young foreign girl… this book is for you (or for your best friend! If you are desperately looking for a present for her birthday or whatsoever, don’t look further! … your solution is right here!).

This book is just pure sincerity! The genuine piece of work of Margaux Motin always tells us with humour the diverse adventures of a woman’s life… from her love stories to her friendships and all the troubles they BOTH bring! This book is not an umpteenth sappy story starring amazing girls, but the REAL story of a REAL girl!

Thus, her last comic book, entitled La tectonique des plaques (The plate tectonics), is about the turbulent life of a single 35-year-old mum, who tells the reader about the recent events of her life that completely upset her… such as her new love story with her best friend, who she totally changed her life for, etc.

To sum up… A very funny and genuine book that all the TRUE girls will devour!

And fortunately for us, My Little Book Club makes us discover, on its website, 30 pages of this comic book… so you can guess, my lovely ones, that I definitely couldn’t prevent myself from having a look at it ^^ Therefore, I made my own selection of my favourite pages among the 30 ones published on mylittlebookclub.fr !!!

Let’s start with the chapter entitled “Sagesse populaire: Avant l’heure c’est pas l’heure, après l’heure c’est plus l’heure” (“Folk wisdom: Before the time it’s not time, after the time it’s not time anymore”)

© My Little Book Club

© My Little Book Club
Exactly 9 o’clock! Let’s hit the deck!

© My Little Book Club

© My Little Book Club
Uh no 9:01 am! Well… missed!
I’m a country girl! At home, we don’t joke around sayings!

And here’s my second favourite bit, entitled “L’art de l’anticipation” (“The art of anticipation”)

And here it is, my darlings! I hope you liked this post… a little bit different, I could almost say… the first of its kind ^^

With this, have a very lovely Tuesday and…

Keep holding on to what you love & enjoy the ride of life 😉

Much Love to all of you