The Brothers Karamazov

fyodor dostoyevsky

'Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them ... '

Sage advise, Lemony Snicket.

I love books. I love reading them, holding them, collecting them, smelling them, stacking them in stacks about my bedroom. I even love tripping on books. Which I do regularly at my job, at a bookshop.

I love books for reasons so numerous that I would not suffer you to read through them.

I also love watching people read. I love seeing the places they read, what they read, their expressions and body language whilst reading. I experience feelings of fondness for some one if they giggle, snort or chortle as their eyes trip back and forth across the page. I love them immediately if they let out a genuine belly laugh when reading in public.

I love being stopped by strangers wherever I may be to be to asked about, enthused to or congratulated over my choice of book. It gives me tidbits of joy all day.

It is one of my favorite things as I get to know some one, to hear about their relationship with books. What they have read, what they enjoy reading, and what they wish to read. What they love about reading. What got them hooked, if they can remember.

All this is simply to introduce this sentence: Look at this cool blog I found!

Underground New York Public Library

'Music is just a language, a means of communicating. It's what it conveys that really matters. The music conveys the spirit and soul of the people and feelings that sometimes couldn't be expressed in any other manner. It's more accurate than any other written history because it's alive at this very moment.'

Martin Hayes

(the main fiddler below)

Words of Worth

There was a time when meadow, grove and stream,

The earth and every common sight,

To me did seem

Appareled in celestial light,

It is not now as it hath been of yore; 

Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

The Rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the Rose,

The Moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare,

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

(two verses from Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth.)