More or less my favorite thing in the world is reading. Since I was about four years old (when my mother says I seemed to be reading by myself), reading has been my escape, comfort, and joy.
Now, you can make the case that reading requires and promotes curiosity so you could say that reading is practicing curiosity. I have to confess, though, that when I entitled this post “Just want to read my book” I mean I would like to have an unbroken hour or two to read my Agatha Christie (“Passenger to Frankfurt”). And I’m a bit frustrated that life does not allow that at the moment. Not much curiosity involved there. Ah, well.