Eluding these assaults, you come up beneath the towers of the fortress, where other troops are holding out:
the Books You've Been Planning To Read For Ages,
the Books You've Been Hunting For Years Without Success,
the Books Dealing With Something You're Working On At The Moment,
the Books You Want To Own So They'll Be Handy Just In Case,
the Books You Could Put Aside Maybe To Read This Summer,
the Books You Need To Go With Other Books On Your Shelves,
the Books That Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified.
How appropriate to come across these lines after having splurged on an order of 10 books (Ten?! What brand of demented gluttony is this?).
The excerpt is from Italo Calvino's IF ON A WINTER'S NIGHT A TRAVELLER which I've had shelved for a while waiting to hear its call. Having just finished Dylan's contemplative CHRONICLES: VOLUME ONE (which may just be the best autobiography I ever read) and spent the afternoon lost in play and laughter with the little one—now sound asleep—I feel in the right frame of mind to drift away with Calvino.