
I love books, how the paper smells of ink, how the cover is silky when you stroke it. I long to be the creator of such a brilliant thing, to lend other people your ideas and your mental images.
One of the priority's for my dream house is an extensive library, with floor to ceiling shelves, and a fireplace and tons of huge windows with window seats. But, the most important part will meet your eye everywhere you turn. The books. Old volumes with dusty covers and yellowing pages, spanking new novels with colorful images on the front cover. Every single original book I treasure now will be present in my collection, alongside the new.
The possibilities are endless with the subject of books, from chunky encyclopedias with tiny black and white illustrations, to slim picture books,with child-like animations. You can hold with your own hand a villain murdering his so-sought-after victim, while also in your grasp a calm lake rippling as a frog enters the soothing depths of the cool water. To have such a mind as to bend and coax words to your will,to have the wonderful ability to discover a world no one else has the faintest inkling of.
I want to pass down the love and respect of books to my children, as my mother did to me, I want to show them the past, introduce the future, teach them creativity and passion, to truly love, to regret. How to feel and handle their anger, how to forgive and to forgive those who you don't want to forgive.
All these quality's are things we don't find in the average day public schooled child. (There are, of course, the exeptions.)Those who have been pampered, given in to, indulged, mistreated, even hated. Many now spit the word "book" with hatred and disrespect. They growl daily through clenched teeth "I hate reading. Books are stupid!" as their teacher or parent forces them to stare at the words on the page, words that are empty and meaningless to them. But to others, joy comes from those inky symbols, they fell the best way of escape is through the pages of a book. Why don't people nourish children in that way? Why do they teach them (Though unconsciously) to hate and despise these golden treasures? It certainly is not worth it to me, or many who understand that blissful feeling only a well written story can send through your being.
As I think these thoughts, I wonder at the stupidity of the whole situation. Books should be treasured and respected, loved and cherished. Nothing is more irritating to me than when I see in persons house a single book case, half filled with scholastic and Dr. Seuss junk. As I have said before, I love books, and I want to share that love with others. I love the way the page smells of ink and the way the cover feels silky to the touch.