The Whimsical Muse

Someone just asked “Why waste time reading the book when you can simply watch the movie?” and long story short there comes a time when you must acknowledge that a friendship has run its course.

Surround yourself with the kind of people who find the Oxford comma to be illuminative, beautiful, and necessary.

You refer to eating an entire bag of crisps in one sitting as “mildly concerning”.

I refer to it as “seeing things through” and “not being a quitter”.

Everything is all about perspective.

People don't make their soup in a cauldron over an open fire under a full moon with the sound of wolves in the distance anymore, and honestly, I think that’s a shame.

It’s the perfect day to find a secluded cottage in the Scottish Highlands and go off the grid for a few years.

A person‘s attractiveness increases by a minimum of 58% when they support their local bookstore, café, theatre, bakery, and library.

At the end of the day, don’t we all just want to read Agatha Christie in front of a crackling fire in a Scottish Highlands cottage during a raging snowstorm whilst enjoying a plate of emotional support scones?

I don't know who needs to hear this, but if all you have accomplished thus far in 2026 is reading several books, drinking multiple pots of tea, and consuming a scandalous amount of chocolate croissants, then you have accomplished more than enough.

I know things are bad, everyone, but at least we are not still on Twitter.

If you don’t want to read Edgar Allan Poe together by the fireplace whilst sharing a vintage bottle of Chenin Blanc and a basket of midnight croissants in a quaint château in the French countryside during a raging snowstorm, then please don’t tell me you’re “open to trying new things."

One person‘s “dreadfully cold day” is another person‘s “perfect opportunity to read Agatha Christie and eat scones in front of the fire.”

Life is what you make of it.

I typically only respond to correspondence if it’s in the form of a handwritten letter composed on an oak desk by candlelight using a quill dipped into a bottle of ink, enclosed in an envelope with a wax seal, and sent via raven, so no, I’m afraid I didn’t “see your email.”

Please never give up on your dream that one day, you will finally have a bookshelf with a rolling ladder.

Surround yourself with the kind of people who make small talk with stray animals.

If we can’t enjoy a bottle of Cabernet together by the fireplace in an abandoned Victorian mansion under a full moon on a cold winter’s night with the sound of wolves in the distance whilst we wax poetic about our hopes, dreams, and people we want to haunt in the afterlife, then what’s the point?

Remember, it’s perfectly acceptable if your weekend plans consist of nothing other than reading a good book, drinking multiple kettles of tea, and indulging in a scandalous amount of cinnamon rolls.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but your desire to have a cottage in the Scottish Highlands, endless cups of tea, a riveting novel, a plate of freshly-baked emotional support scones, and a bookshelf with a rolling ladder doesn’t make you “too needy."

I don’t need to be “wealthy”, per se. I just want to have enough money to buy my own castle on the Scottish coast so that I can never be seen again.

Just pulled a loose book from a bookshelf, and regrettably, a secret door didn't open, so I'm afraid your email did not "find me well."

At the end of the day, don’t we all just want to read books during a raging snowstorm in front of a crackling fire whilst enjoying a plate of emotional support scones?

Call me old-fashioned, but I truly believe that exploring the catacombs together with torches in hand beats “dinner and a movie” any day of the week.

Be a hand-written letter in a world full of text messages.

My New Year’s resolution is to read more books, eat more scones, and use more Oxford commas.

Granted, people can assert that reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula in a dimly-lit café in Prague on a snowy day whilst having multiple cappuccinos and croissants “won’t fix you”, but they’re failing to understand an undeniable truth:

It certainly can’t hurt.

Does anyone else spend this time of year having no bloody clue what day of the week it is?

I wish I loved anything as much as cats love empty boxes.