He loved books, those undemanding but faithful friends.
And reading this way - with no deadline, no agenda - she remembered why she loved literature so much. It was like fucking a new man and knowing that he had made other women come, but that when she came it would be an unshareable, untranslatable pleasure. She opened herself up to her books, and the words got inside her and fucked her senseless.
In books I meet the dead as if they were alive, in books I see what is yet to come... All things decay and pass with time... all fame would fall victim to oblivion if God had not given mortal men the book to aid them.
