In A Library, No Empty Shelf Remains

Every Reader Exists To Ensure For A Certain Book A Modest Immortality. Reading Is, In This Sense, A Ritual Of Rebirth.

This Morning I Looked At The Books On My Shelves And Thought That They Have No Knowledge Of My Existence. They Come To Life Because I Open Them And Turn Their Pages, And Yet They Don't Know That I Am Their Reader.

As Readers, We Are Seldom Interested In The Fine Sentiments Of A Lesson Learnt; We Seldom Care About The Good Manners Of Morals. Repentance Puts An End To Conversation; Forgiveness Becomes The Stuff Of Moralistic Tracts. Revenge - Bloodthirsty, Justice-hungry Revenge - Is The Very Essence Of Romance, Lying At The Heart Of Much Of The Best Fiction.

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.

There Is A Line Of Poetry, A Sentence In A Fable, A Word In An Essay, By Which My Existence Is Justified; Find That Line, And Immortality Is Assured.