I was unpacking some books today, and I am finding that there are more books than there are shelves–which isn’t that bad of a problem to have. But I have such a variety, it is getting difficult to sort them all in an OCD friendly way. There’s the classics, the old decaying “forgottens” that I’ve picked up on the island of lost books from an old bookstore (which are my favorite), then there’s the biographies, old text books, coffee table like books and…well, you get the point.
The most troublesome part is that I still need room for more books. I think I could be like Thomas Jefferson and go into debt buying all the books my little heart desired. I especially love buying old books, because I love the history behind them. For example, when I hold an old book in my hand, I like to imagine who it belonged to. Did they love it? How did it get here? What was their life like? To me, it is like holding on to a piece of history. Especially when you can find books from 17-1800’s.
Belle, I hope you appreciate the library the Beast made for you.
Being surrounded by books, it’s like walking into heaven. It’s so inspiring. That feeling I get when I am surrounded by books, especially the greats, it is the same feeling I get whenever I hear Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.23, or when I see classic art pieces up close (Mark Rothko), or when I watch movies from the 50’s… I don’t know what this feeling is, but I know that it drives me to want to create something beautiful of my own.
Maybe this is a little cheesy, but I know I am not the only one who feels this way.
I think part of the reason writer’s love to write is because they are reader’s who love to read.
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