6/10/2011

I can’t help it: I’m totally fascinated by old books. There’s something magic in those little humble second-hand bookstores, which invites me to spend my time there to look for that special book. That life-changing book.  

Like the great J. L. Borges once said: 

 Like all men of the Library, I have traveled in my youth; I have wandered in search of a book, perhaps the catalogue of catalogues; now that my eyes can hardly decipher what I write, I am preparing to die just a few leagues from the hexagon in which I was born. Once I am dead, there will be no lack of pious hands to throw me over the railing; my grave will be the fathomless air; my body will sink endlessly and decay and dissolve in the wind generated by the fall, which is infinite. I say that the Library is unending.