Do you like to read in a dark room with a pleasant fire in the fireplace and a favorite reading lamp while scrunching into the deep cushions of an oversized chair you bought at an estate auction that came with a lifetime supply of antimacassars? Or do you like to take a sling chair down to the beach and soak in the salt and sun while reading a great book and trying at the same time not to get oily fingerprints on each page as it is turned?
Those both sound good to me. I was in the habit of taking one or two weeks down at a beach house and always had a cloth bag full of intended reading: some times I went the route of Big Fat Books and only took two or three (I read War and Peace in one week at the Jersey Shore) and at other times I grabbed eight or ten slimmer volumes, expecting to make room on my bookshelves by knocking off several of those books that just seemed to hang around month after month. I never was as successful as I hoped and even on a cruise (I never get off the ship) I came home with more than one unread book.