They’re like trophies, each one in line on the shelf marks a personal achievement; each one a destination I have reached, and I remember the experience as I glide my finger across their spines.
Well, this is how one may think of the books one has read.
The books I have yet to read are the places I have yet to visit. Theirs is a journey I have yet to embark upon.
Looking at the shelf, with its novels, compilations, philosophies, histories, short stories, I reflect on how pleased I am to have visited all these places and to have had these experiences. Many of them have given me a view of the world that I may never have had. How would my outlook differ without the experience of even one favourite book?
Honestly, other books were not as beneficial, but now I know what lies within them too, and that is at least worth knowing. It’s worth knowing what is wrong as well as what is right.