“It is what you read when you don’t have to, that determines what you will be when you can’t help it.”
– Oscar Wilde
“Live for a while in the books you love. Learn from them what is worth learning, but above all love them….Whatever your life may become, these books -of this I am certain- will weave through the web of your unfolding. They will be among the strongest of all threads of your experiences, disappointments, and joys.”
– R. M. Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
They say there’s a place where dreams have all gone
They never said where but I think I know
It’s miles through the night just over the dawn
On the road that will take me home
I know in my bones, I’ve been here before
The ground feels the same though the land’s been torn
I’ve a long way to go the stars tell me so
On this road that will take me home
Love waits for me ’round the bend, leads me endlessly on
Surely sorrows shall find their end and all our troubles will be gone
And I’ll know what I’ve lost and all that I’ve won
When the road finally takes me home
And when I pass by, don’t lead me astray
Don’t try to stop me, don’t stand in my way
I’m bound for the hills where cool waters flow
On this road that will take me home
~ Mary Fahl
All through my life these words have followed me, and sometimes I find myself repeating them due to the comfort they bring. Hopefully we will find this place, or at least have something closest to it, that we can call home.
“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore –
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door –
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door –
Only this and nothing more.”
*
“Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.”
~Stanza 1&2, from The Raven – Edgar Allen Poe
“Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.”
— Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Shadow of the Wind