In The Light, We Read The Inventions

Deserted Libraries Hold The Shades Of Writers Who Worked Within, And Are Haunted By Their Absence.

I Don't Remember Ever Feeling Lonely; In Fact, On The Rare Occasions When I Met Other Children I Found Their Games And Their Talk Far Less Interesting Than The Adventures And Dialogues I Read In My Books.

I Wanted To Live Among Books.

I've Never Really Understood Attachment To A Place For Reasons Of Birth. That My Mother Happened To Give Birth To Me In A Certain Place Doesn't, To My Mind, Justify Any Thankfulness Towards That Place. It Could Have Been Anywhere.

Maybe This Is Why We Read, And Why In Moments Of Darkness We Return To Books: To Find Words For What We Already Know.