Hydriotaphia, Urn Burial, or a Discourse of the Sepulchral Urns lately found in Norfolk by Thomas Browne
The book I am writing:
Workbook for CSEC IT - waiting for the proofs at the moment
The book I love most:
Perhaps Four Quartets by TS Eliot
The last book I received as a gift:
William Blake, the complete illuminated books (from my daughter)
The last book I gave as a gift:
Chasin' that Devil Music by Gayle Dean Wardlow (history of the Mississippi blues, for my old man)
The nearest book on my desk:
Information Technology for CSEC by Leo Cato and Effective Management for Voluntary Organisations by Sandy Adirondack (god what a yawn, but that's why it's my work desk)
I look down at my feet. I am almost standing on a copy of a poetry booklet called Smiths Knoll that Fred gave me. When I opened it, a piece of paper fluttered out. It's an extract from his favourite book - The First Lady Chatterley (not the more explicit third version that Lawrence wrote - Lady Chatterley's Lover which is so famous).
here is what he typed
All her body felt like the dark interlacing of the boughs of an oak wood, softly humming in a wind, and humming inaudibly with the myriad, myriad unfolding of buds. Meanwhile the birds had their heads laid on their shoulders and slept with delight in the vast interlaced intricacy of the forest of her body.