You Can Miss A Lot By Sticking

When I Walk Into An Apartment With Books On The Shelves, Books On The Bedside Tables, Books On The Floor, And Books On The Toilet Tank, Then I Know What I Would See If I Opened The Door That Says Private - Grownups Keep Out: A Children Sprawled On The Bed, Reading.

My Brother And I Were Able To Fantasize Far More Extravagantly About Our Parents' Tastes And Desires, Their Aspirations And Their Vices, By Scanning Their Bookcases Than By Snooping In Their Closest. Their Selves Were On Their Shelves.

Something Amazing Happens When The Rest Of The World Is Sleeping. I Am Glued To My Chair. I Forget That I Ever Wanted To Do Anything But Write. The Crowded City, The Crowded Apartment, And The Crowded Calendar Suddenly Seem Spacious. Three Or Four Hours Pass In A Moment; I Have No Idea What Time It Is, Because I Never Check The Clock. If I Chose To Listen, I Could Hear The Swish Of Taxis Bound For Downtown Bars Or The Soft Saxophone Riffs That Drift From A Neighbor's Window, But Nothing Gets Through. I Am Suspended In A Sensory Deprivation Tank, And The Very Lack Of Sensation Is Delicious.

I Am Very Grateful To The Electronic World For Making My Life Easier, But There Is Something About Holding A Book - The Smell And The World Of Association. Even When E-books Are Perfected, As They Surely Will Be, It Will Be Like Being In Bed With A Very Well-made Robot Rather Than A Warm, Soft, Human Being Whom You Love.

...the Reader Who Plucks A Book From Her Shelf Only Once Is As Deprived As The Listener Who, After Attending A Single Performance Of A Beethoven Symphony, Never Hears It Again.