I read books like they are the last pieces of driftwood and I am drowning.Â They are my lifeline, inspiration, education, and friends.Â I learned to read before I went to school, my parents forming letters and words, using the Baha’i Writings and endless books to teach me.Â I learned to write much more sloppily.Â But this is not about writing, it is about reading.
I have read so many books that I forget if I’ve read something before, sometimes.Â Half of my high school library collection was devoured in the four years that I was there.Â I think I was voted “Most likely to become a librarian” in an informal class poll.
One of my favorite passages from a fictional book comes from The History of Love:
“Even now, all possible feelings do not yet exist.Â There are still those that lie beyond our capacity and our imagination.Â From time to time, when a piece of music no one has ever written, or a painting no one has ever painted, or something else impossible to predict, fathom, or yet describe takes place, a new feeling enters the world.Â And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges, and absorbs the impact.”
Everyone needs to read beautiful things.