There's just something about books on the shelf, all lined up in rows. As I unpacked my books last week after moving back into the dorm, I lingered over some of my paperbacks from lit classes I had taken. They're like pillows--broken in and comfortable. Reading through the notes in the margins I can remember what I felt while delving into a particular text. These physical books are extensions of myself.
Imagine replacing all of these volumes with a tiny vial on the bookshelf. Sterile, barren shelves. Sure, the world is now at your fingertips, but the whimsy is gone. It's just not the same.
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Imagine replacing all of these volumes with a tiny vial on the bookshelf. Sterile, barren shelves. Sure, the world is now at your fingertips, but the whimsy is gone. It's just not the same.