"I swear, Sophie, I think theres something wrong with me. Every man I meet is intolerable. Perhaps I should set my sights lower-not so low as the grey doctor who clicks, but a bit lower. I can't even blame it on the war--I was never very good at men, was I?
Do you suppose the St. Swithin's furnace-man was my one true love? Since I never spoke to him, it seems unlikely, but at least it was a passion unscathed by disappointment. and he had that beautiful black hair. .....................Sophie--what is the matter with me? Am I too particular? I don't want to be married just to be married. I can't think of anything lonelier than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse, someone I can't be silent with."
An excerpt from The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
I think I'm going to like this book very much.
I would like to start a literary society, but I would much rather eat creme brulee than potato peel pie.
Who is with me?
What shall we call it?