I have books. I have lots and lots of books. Row after row of bound paper that sits on endless shelv
I have books. I have lots and lots of books. Row after row of bound paper that sits on endless shelves - read, unread, to-be-read, half read. They’re positioned vertically, horizontally, diagonally and even folded into my bookcase. There’s no real consistency to them. I own Eat, Pray, Love but I also own a fabric-covered academic book about the poetry of Robert Lowell that I stole from my university library as a result of a mildly obsessive period during my second year where I thought he and I would be married were he not dead or I not 19. There’s guidebooks to visited cities with earmarked pages should I return. There’s non-fiction tales of campaign trails and stories of African journeys on motorbikes. There’s best sellers and non-sellers, classics and never-be classics. There’s high-brow award winners and low-brow holiday reads. There’s coffee table books and pocket Penguins. There’s intricate fiction and fascinating non-fiction. There are a million and one differences between them, but one important similarity… I’ve loved them all. -- source link
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