I found a beautiful book today, and held it for a while before opening it. A book is like a treasure chest. You pry up the dull cover and sometimes there’s gleaming wealth in the stories, in the knowledge, images and ideas. For a second, that thought made me feel like I was looting a temple. Except of course I didn’t take anything away. I only made copies in my mind.
We didn’t have any nice books when I was growing up, and back then the only art we had in the house were the drawings we made at school. Traveling has opened my eyes. The world is vast and deep.