Life Happened Because I Turned The Pages.

Each Book Was A World Unto Itself, And In It I Took Refuge.

As We Read A Text In Our Own Language, The Text Itself Becomes A Barrier.

We Can Roam The Bloated Stacks Of The Library Of Alexandria, Where All Imagination And Knowledge Are Assembled; We Can Recognize In Its Destruction The Warning That All We Gather Will Be Lost, But Also That Much Of It Can Be Collected Again; We Can Learn From Its Splendid Ambition That What Was One Man's Experience Can Become, Through The Alchemy Of Words, The Experience Of All, And How That Experience, Distilled Once Again Into Words, Can Serve Each Singular Reader For Some Secret, Singular Purpose.

From Fire, Water, The Passage Of Time, Neglectful Readers, And The Hand Of The Censor, Each Of My Books Has Escaped To Tell Me Its Story.

Digestion Of Words As Well; I Often Read Aloud To Myself In My Writing Corner In The Library, Where No One Can Hear Me, For The Sake Of Better Savouring The Text, So As To Make It All The More Mine.