A Book Brings Its Own History To

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.

Every Reader Has Found Charms By Which To Secure Possession Of A Page That, By Magic, Becomes As If Never Read Before, Fresh And Immaculate.

If The Book Is Second-hand, I Leave All Its Markings Intact, The Spoor Of Previous Readers, Fellow-travellers Who Have Recorded Their Passage By Means Of Scribbled Comments, A Name On The Fly-leaf, A Bus Ticket To Mark A Certain Page.

A Library Is An Ever-growing Entity; It Multiples Seemingly Unaided, It Reproduces Itself By Purchase, Theft, Borrowings, Gifts, By Suggesting Gaps Through Association, By Demanding Completion Of Sorts.

Evil Requires No Reason.