"a book is made from a tree. it is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called “leaves”) imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. one glance at it and you hear the voice of another person—perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another.
books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic."
i would never advocate the shredding of a book-
not for a window display. not for anything. ever.
but i must say that club monaco's recent visual display in boston
stopped me right in my tracks.
that is what a pile of books can do to a girl like me.
I love this. You are so right and I am so with you!
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