If You Truly Love A Book, You

Pen-bereavement Is A Serious Matter.

I Can Imagine Few Worse Fates Than Walking Around For The Rest Of One's Life Wearing A Typo.

My Brother And I Were Able To Fantasize Far More Extravagantly About Our Parents' Tastes And Desires, Their Aspirations And Their Vices, By Scanning Their Bookcases Than By Snooping In Their Closest. Their Selves Were On Their Shelves.

Books Wrote Our Life Story, And As They Accumulated On Our Shelves (and On Our Windowsills, And Underneath Our Sofa, And On Top Of Our Refrigerator), They Became Chapters In It Themselves.

Some Friends Of Theirs Had Rented Their House For Several Months To An Interior Decorator. When They Returned, They Discovered That Their Entire Library Had Been Reorganized By Color And Size. Shortly Thereafter, The Decorator Met With A Fatal Automobile Accident. I Confess That When This Story Was Told, Everyone Around The Dinner Table Concurred That Justice Had Been Served.