i love books far, far too much for my own good.  today, for example, i bought an emily dickenson and a welsh-english dictionary.

i love books.

i could spend hours in a bookstore.  i’ve taken a course in the history of the book.

i love how much knowledge is hidden between the covers of a book.

i love how the imagination interacts with the book.

i love books.

i think i should own a bookstore when i grow up.

i’d stock it with classics and good mysteries and poetry.

i’d stock it with books on photography, art, ancient and medieval history and mythology.

i’d stock it with books on language and books on travel.

and there would be coffee and tea and hot cider available (for purchase, of course).

and i’d allow pipe smoking, and i’d have some overstuffed leather armchairs and some nifty little ottomans and persian rugs.

i’d sell used books as well as new books.

in between customers i’d putter about in my slippers and read, or i’d sit at my pigeonhole desk and scribble.

i love books.


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