and take naps on friday afternoons
so today i did it once again
i read some words that made me think it was in my head
watched a film that that made me wonder what it would be like for this place to empty
and in those silent hours of the early morning night when i took the air
from my piece of the sky, i remembered how i felt
how it was similar, familiar and fragrant with memory
it was never the same as always, each was always slightly different
yet those shivers of memory convinced me of their common inspirations
so i lay down my guard to take in the Dawn, to stumble into another
philosophy of love
in this essay i was reading tonigt, the title essay in book v. cigarettes by George Orwell, he has this quote about books that is essential to share with you.
It is difficult to establish any relationship between the price of books and the value one gets out of them. 'Book' include novels, poetry, textbooks, works of reference, sociological treatises and much else, and length and price do not correspond to one another, especially if one habitually buys books second-hand. You may spend 10 shillings on a poem of 500 lines, and you may spend sixpence on a dictionary which you consult at odd moments over a period of twenty years. There are books one reads over and over again, books that become part of the furniture of one's mind and alter one's whole attitude to life, books that one dips into but never reads through, books that one reads at a single sitting and forgets a week later: and the cost in terms of money, may be the same in each case.
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