Books are Lighthouses erected in the great sea of time – Edwin P. Whipple

For as far back as I can remember I have loved reading and books were often a gateway into undiscovered imaginary landscapes and exotic places that fed into my constant habit of daydreaming.  As a skinny little girl with thick glasses and a voracious appetite for reading, when I was not out playing with my friends,  I spent many a holiday afternoon curled up in the shade reading a book.

I started with the usual children’s books – stories of adventure and the classics, which were required reading at school, and as my horizons expanded, I discovered that there was an endlessly fascinating amount of literature and knowledge to be consumed by my enquiring mind. One of the books that I found rather thought provoking was Virgina Woolf’s “To the Lighthouse”.  It is a story of a family torn apart by the death of the mother and how each one gradually finds their way back to a discovery of who they are, their identity amidst strife, and eventually to acceptance of themselves.
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