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I believe it was Cicero who said that a room without books is like a body without a soul. I have to wonder if this type of thinking still stands, with the advent of the Kindle and the like.
Personally, I find that there is something strikingly comforting about walking into a room framed by shelves of books of all shapes and sizes and pregnant with words, and ideas. The subtle scent of thousands of pages bound together to create endless and timeless bodies of wisdom, (useless or otherwise) makes me somewhat nostalgic. It reminds me of the days when, as a child and not entirely convinced of the value of engaging with peers, I would race to read another installment of Lord of the Rings, Roald Dahl, C.S. Lewis, and the works of those good men who gave us a place to escape to. And when nothing in the outside world made sense, the simple act of holding a book up to yourself was like harnessing a portal into another mind and another place.
"Bint Warraq"
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