Evil Requires No Reason.

The Association Of Books With Their Readers Is Unlike Any Other Between Objects And Their Users.

If The Book Is Second-hand, I Leave All Its Markings Intact, The Spoor Of Previous Readers, Fellow-travellers Who Have Recorded Their Passage By Means Of Scribbled Comments, A Name On The Fly-leaf, A Bus Ticket To Mark A Certain Page.

There Is A Line Of Poetry, A Sentence In A Fable, A Word In An Essay, By Which My Existence Is Justified; Find That Line, And Immortality Is Assured.

Every Reader Exists To Ensure For A Certain Book A Modest Immortality. Reading Is, In This Sense, A Ritual Of Rebirth.

I Like To Imagine That, On The Day After My Last, My Library And I Will Crumble Together, So That Even When I Am No More I'll Still Be With My Books.