Infatuation was a good thing. It gave spice to life, and added to its enjoyment, but it was different from love. Love was worth everything, and couldn’t be exchanged for anything.
Books… They are lined up on shelves or stacked on a table. There they are wrapped up in their jackets, lines of neat print on nicely bound pages. They look like such orderly, static things. Then you, the reader come along. You open the book jacket, and it can be like opening the gates to an unknown city, or opening the lid of a treasure chest. You read the first word and you’re off on a journey of exploration and discovery.