I realize that "hustle culture" is all the rage, but what about "sit in front of a cracking fire in a Scottish Highlands cottage whilst reading, sipping tea, and eating scones" culture?

I realize that "hustle culture" is all the rage, but what about "sit in front of a cracking fire in a Scottish Highlands cottage whilst reading, sipping tea, and eating scones" culture?

Never underestimate the therapeutic benefit of freshly-baked emotional support cinnamon rolls.

At the end of the day, don’t we all just want to read Edgar Allan Poe in front of a crackling fire in a mysterious Victorian mansion on a cold winter's night during a full moon with the sound of wolves in the distance whilst enjoying a plate of freshly-baked croissants?

Sometimes, self-care is spending a day exploring bookstores, museums, greenhouses, art galleries, and libraries.

Okay but hear me out: A winter book club, and we all bring soup.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you’re under absolutely no obligation to justify yourself to anyone if you choose to spend the entire weekend drinking tea, reading books, and eating a scandalous amount of croissants.

Remember, if someone tells you that your dream of having a bookshelf with a rolling ladder is "unrealistic", they were never your friend to begin with.

Sometimes, on a cold winter’s day, grilled cheese with tomato soup is everything the soul needs.

All I want is a quaint château in the French countryside, a raging snowstorm, a crackling fire, a vintage copy of Victor Hugo‘s The Hunchback of Notre Dame, a whistling kettle on the stove, an owl keeping watch, and a basket of emotional support croissants.

Someone just asked “Why waste time reading the book when you can simply watch the movie?” and long story short there comes a time when you must acknowledge that a friendship has run its course.

Surround yourself with the kind of people who find the Oxford comma to be illuminative, beautiful, and necessary.

You refer to eating an entire bag of crisps in one sitting as “mildly concerning”. I refer to it as “seeing things through” and “not being a quitter”. Everything is all about perspective.

People don't make their soup in a cauldron over an open fire under a full moon with the sound of wolves in the distance anymore, and honestly, I think that’s a shame.

It’s the perfect day to find a secluded cottage in the Scottish Highlands and go off the grid for a few years.

A person‘s attractiveness increases by a minimum of 58% when they support their local bookstore, café, theatre, bakery, and library.

At the end of the day, don’t we all just want to read Agatha Christie in front of a crackling fire in a Scottish Highlands cottage during a raging snowstorm whilst enjoying a plate of emotional support scones?

I don't know who needs to hear this, but if all you have accomplished thus far in 2026 is reading several books, drinking multiple pots of tea, and consuming a scandalous amount of chocolate croissants, then you have accomplished more than enough.

I know things are bad, everyone, but at least we are not still on Twitter.

If you don’t want to read Edgar Allan Poe together by the fireplace whilst sharing a vintage bottle of Chenin Blanc and a basket of midnight croissants in a quaint château in the French countryside during a raging snowstorm, then please don’t tell me you’re “open to trying new things."

One person‘s “dreadfully cold day” is another person‘s “perfect opportunity to read Agatha Christie and eat scones in front of the fire.” Life is what you make of it.

I typically only respond to correspondence if it’s in the form of a handwritten letter composed on an oak desk by candlelight using a quill dipped into a bottle of ink, enclosed in an envelope with a wax seal, and sent via raven, so no, I’m afraid I didn’t “see your email.”

Please never give up on your dream that one day, you will finally have a bookshelf with a rolling ladder.

Surround yourself with the kind of people who make small talk with stray animals.

If we can’t enjoy a bottle of Cabernet together by the fireplace in an abandoned Victorian mansion under a full moon on a cold winter’s night with the sound of wolves in the distance whilst we wax poetic about our hopes, dreams, and people we want to haunt in the afterlife, then what’s the point?

Remember, it’s perfectly acceptable if your weekend plans consist of nothing other than reading a good book, drinking multiple kettles of tea, and indulging in a scandalous amount of cinnamon rolls.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but your desire to have a cottage in the Scottish Highlands, endless cups of tea, a riveting novel, a plate of freshly-baked emotional support scones, and a bookshelf with a rolling ladder doesn’t make you “too needy."

I don’t need to be “wealthy”, per se. I just want to have enough money to buy my own castle on the Scottish coast so that I can never be seen again.

Just pulled a loose book from a bookshelf, and regrettably, a secret door didn't open, so I'm afraid your email did not "find me well."

At the end of the day, don’t we all just want to read books during a raging snowstorm in front of a crackling fire whilst enjoying a plate of emotional support scones?

Call me old-fashioned, but I truly believe that exploring the catacombs together with torches in hand beats “dinner and a movie” any day of the week.

Be a hand-written letter in a world full of text messages.

My New Year’s resolution is to read more books, eat more scones, and use more Oxford commas.

Granted, people can assert that reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula in a dimly-lit café in Prague on a snowy day whilst having multiple cappuccinos and croissants “won’t fix you”, but they’re failing to understand an undeniable truth: It certainly can’t hurt.

Does anyone else spend this time of year having no bloody clue what day of the week it is?

I wish I loved anything as much as cats love empty boxes.

Dear Santa: All I want for Christmas is for the Oxford comma to be cherished, loved, and respected.

All I want is a cottage in the Scottish Highlands, a raging snowstorm, an Agatha Christie novel, a crackling fire, a kettle on the stove, a purring cat, and a basket of emotional support scones.

Discovered that I mistakenly bought decaf coffee beans on my most recent grocery trip, so I ask you to please refrain from telling me that bad things don’t happen to good people.

In celebration of the winter solstice, it's the perfect night to make soup in a cauldron over an open fire with your local forest witch.

All I want for Christmas is to open up an independent bookstore that doubles as a café and triples as a cat rescue.

Okay but hear me out: A book club, and everyone brings a cat.

Your library card is the most priceless card you will ever own.

I like my Christmas films like I like my pizza: Extra cheesy.

What do I want for Christmas? A mysterious manor in the Scottish countryside, a library of vintage novels, a collection of the world’s rarest wines, an owl to deliver and retrieve my post, a butler with a mysterious backstory, and my own personal pastry chef. I'm really not that hard to shop for.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you’re under no obligation to justify yourself to anyone if you decide to spend the entire day reading books and eating cinnamon rolls.