We Read No More That Day

According to a new survey, nearly half of all men and a third of all women lie about what they are reading to impress potential partners, and some even let themselves be “caught” reading on purpose while waiting for their date. I feel compelled to usher a warning to all book lovers (or pretenders) intending to fall in love over the act of reading: chances are that you end up swirling in the first circle of hell for eternity — with compliments from Paolo and Francesca.

One day we read for pastime how in thrall
Lord Lancelot lay to love, who loved the Queen;
We were alone — we thought no harm at all.
As we read on, our eyes met now and then,
And to our cheeks the changing colour started,
But just one moment overcame us — when
We read of smile, desired of lips long-thwarted,
Such smile, by such a lover kissed away,
He that may never more from me be parted
Trembling all over, kissed my mouth. I say
The book was Galleot, Galleot the complying
Ribald who wrote; we read no more that day.

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