Isn’t it funny how we think of our books when we begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel? I’m mulling over the same chore. So many books, so little time. I have, over time, given away a ton of books and still can’t find room for the ones I “can’t bear to part with.” I have kept my books on Theology from seminary. I still have the full Kittle set on the Greek, and all the reference books on Hebrew. I have practically no fiction books. I covet your number 4 & 9 & 12. I would also love to have the ones on Plato and Aristotle. Reading is life to me. If I ever lose the ability to read just bury me.
Thanks for your answers.
Sounds like many have faced the same task.
One of my earliest memories was my mother taking me for the first time to the local library. What a seed she planted!
I suppose enlargeable e-books and audiobooks and such might suffice when I can no longer manage the real thing, but books almost take on the aspect of old friends for me, or a new one I’m anxious to meet. The weight and physical substance of a tangible book, its palpable textures, it’s dry, serene odors, the refined look of the paper and the print and the page layout, the auditory treat of an opening binding or the rustling of a turned page or the unique thump of it closing - these things, far beyond the words themselves, give a book a life all its own. I think the lure of those pleasures - as much as the writings themselves - is one reason we hang on to so many books we’ll never read or never read again.
Young people have often missed this subtle joy in their fascination with flashier stimulation, but I don’t envy them at all. I also think they sadly miss the indefinable something about a book that helps transform mere information to knowledge, and knowledge to wisdom.
I agree with you nan.
Reading has been my passion and comfort. My books were weeded recently and my beloved “daughter of the heart” an equally passionate reader gets whatever she wants.
None of my children love to read anymore.