I haven’t found a cover that’s really earned the flip.

I don’t read for pleasure, only to learn. And, to be honest, I know too much as it is.

I have plenty of time, but it turns out cooking your own food takes sixteen hours a day.

Hasn’t reading sort of jump the rainbow by now?

I’m pretty sure the Governor said we can’t read for the next two weeks.

People speak words to me all day. Why the heck would I want to come home and look at them?

Unless you’re a battery-operated teddy bear with a story to tell, I’m not interested.

In times like this, how can I focus on anything other than maintaining my New York Times Crossword streak?

I buried my kindle in a coffee can out back for safe keeping.

A friend who tested positive for the virus touches all my books every 72 hours.

When I was five years-old, this kid in my class said reading was lame. I don’t necessarily believe that, but I’m just waiting to see what the science says.

Books are a liberal hoax and I’m currently bareback wrestling at a stranger’s well attended Memphis barbecue.

I have epilepsy, but only when I see the letter “A”.

Oops, I’ve been playing X-Box for two weeks straight and forgot how to read!

Why read when I can dance and not read?

My eyes strain whenever I have to read text that’s six feet away.

How can I read a book when there’s an N95 face mask on it?

Because I’ve had my eyes closed this whole time.

Every page of written word in my house has already been earmarked as emergency toilet paper.