Christian

“(Umbert Eco) told a story about his library, which contained ten thousand volumes. (Someone) asked if he’d read all of them... « Of course I haven’t read them all. If I had, why would I keep them? » That line hit me like a lighting bolt. That was the purpose of life. Not accumulating knowledge, or rounding out an area of expertise or building a collection. But recognizing that for some people who come to it early and without being forced, LIFE IS A LONG SEARCH FOR THE NEXT GREAT BOOK.”
― Cathal Kelly, Boy Wonders: A memoir

“I pictured a low timber house with a shingled roof, caulked against storms, with blazing log fires inside and the walls lined with all the best books, somewhere to live when the rest of the world blew up.”
― Bruce Chatwin, In Patagonia

“CHRISTMAS EVE: There’s a fire blazing in the fireplace, food enough for five thousand, and a new TV as big as Wyoming tuned to a football game no one cares about.”
― Richard Powers, The Overstory

“Without turning, the pharmacist answered that he liked books like The Metamorphosis, Bartleby, A Simple Heart, A Christmas Carol. And then he said that he was reading Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's. Leaving aside the fact that A Simple Heart and A Christmas Carol were stories, not books, there was something revelatory about the taste of this bookish young pharmacist, who ... clearly and inarguably preferred minor works to major ones. He chose The Metamorphosis over The Trial, he chose Bartleby over Moby Dick, he chose A Simple Heart over Bouvard and Pecouchet, and A Christmas Carol over A Tale of Two Cities or The Pickwick Papers. What a sad paradox, thought Amalfitano. Now even bookish pharmacists are afraid to take on the great, imperfect, torrential works, books that blaze a path into the unknown. They choose the perfect exercises of the great masters. Or what amounts to the same thing: they want to watch the great masters spar, but they have no interest in real combat, when the great masters struggle against that something, that something that terrifies us all, that something that cows us and spurs us on, amid blood and mortal wounds and stench.”
― Roberto Bolano, 2666