At Night, Here In The Library, The

I Enjoyed Learning The Poems, But I Didn't Understand Of What Use They Might Possibly Be. ‘they'll Keep You Company On The Day You Have No Books To Read,' My Teacher Said.

For Borges, The Core Of Reality Lay In Books; Reading Books, Writing Books, Talking About Books. In A Visceral Way, He Was Conscious Of Continuing A Dialogue Begun Thousands Of Years Before And Which He Believed Would Never End.

Reading In Bed Is A Self-centered Act, Immobile, Free From Ordinary Social Conventions, Invisible To The World, And One That, Because It Takes Place Between The Sheets, In The Realm Of Lust And Sinful Idleness, Has Something Of The Thrill Of Things Forbidden.

But A Reader's Ambition Knows No Bounds.

If Every Library Is In Some Sense A Reflection Of Its Readers, It Is Also An Image Of That Which We Are Not, And Cannot Be.