There’s little I enjoy more than sitting on the olive sofa in my study looking around at my books, trying to remember when and where I first read each one and under what circumstances, as if they were photos of old friends. I love the smell and the gentle heft and romance of arranging each in its proper and respective place on my shelves. I love most of all the gathering of these very personal and private views of the world I’m being invited to share; the unexpected trust and ever-growing bond and fondness I feel for their authors. Indeed I love everything about books, except actually reading them.
Philip Schultz, My Dyslexia
