“And who understands? Not me, because if I did I would forgive it all.”
― Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls
We like books. Not so much novels (though I do read them sometimes and Louis had been somewhat of a Stephen King fan at one point or another, as well as an Anne Rice fan) but usually informational books: science books, certain how-to books, etc. My kids enjoy books too. There is an uproar if we skip reading them a bedtime story. And I know my nieces enjoy books too (more on that in another post). I’m glad it runs in the family. I have a particular obsession with my books. I like them to remain as new as possible: no creases, bends, markings, rips/tears, etc. I flip-out if someone mishandles them – really flip-out. My brother was aware of my obsession and told me I’d get over it one day: