I’ve been reading Daddy-Long-Legs for the hundredth time. There are only several novels that I keep in my bookshelf and re-read when the time is right. And this is one of them. Other novels, without exception, are destined to be thrown away after one read. (One of the reason I own so many books is because I have not read them yet.)


D.L.L. is probably one of my most favorite books of all time, and as you are probably aware, I read books all the time. The book and I have met when I was 9 or 10. It’s been a few dozen years (ambiguity is really useless, I know), and I still find the book very entertaining and creative. I love the writing style very much – extremely witty and well-thought after. I wish the author had lived longer to produce more masterpieces… I’ve just Googled to find out that she had died of childbirth at the very age I am now. I’ve been inhibiting this world the same length of time, yet I had not produced anything so ingenious in my life…which had put me in a reflective mode.








If you have not read it before, read it. If you have read it before, it’s time to pick it up again for an afternoon entertainment. It’s free on Kindle, afterall.

“I am going to enjoy every second, and I’m going to KNOW I’m enjoying it while I’m enjoying it. Most people don’t live; they just race. They are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose all sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it does’t make any difference whether they’ve reached the goal or not. I’ve decided to sit down by the way and pile up a lot of little happinesses, even if I never become a Great Author.”





At a corner of an old Imperial Palace in Kyoto.

P.S. By the way, there is this person who follows me on Twitter and Instagram, who is a (supposedly happily) married guy in the States and I have no idea how he has found me. Yet he always likes my Instagram photos and I sometimes peek at his photos (I do not follow him, and he is not a very eloquent Instagrammer anyway). At times, the feeling is quite similar to Judy Abbot writing letters to a man she’s never met – taking a photo for a complete stranger to see. I know nothing about him, except his face… ah, thanks to the modern technology.