God created the natural landscapes, man creates the artificial paradises from him. Hoarding books is not like hoarding any other object. The consumerism of the book is a humanism.

I want more books because I need them to tell me what the world was like when I didn't exist, I want to know what it can be like when I'm gone and, above all, I'm interested in the present. And who can help me understand the present? A journalist who screams on television? I do not think so.

I think Plato knows a little more. I think Shakespeare knows more about the human character and its lights and darks than any reality show or gossip show.

You have to read Borges and Cervantes to be up to date with what is happening. The book is not an object, it is a jaw. Each book is a jaw, inside travels the most lucid rage of human endeavor. Books do bite, and they bite hard.

And they bite you, tearing off pieces of darkness, with their teeth they eat the flesh of your opinion and, in its place, another skin, another flesh, another tissue grows.

Ignorance is a crust that never disappears, the more sure we are of having abandoned it, the more we will be wallowing in its pigsty.

I want them to bite me to caress, past the wound, the lush mesh of my new skin. Like a kind of vampire, he bites into your book, and something of his enters your body, transforming you.

Reading is letting yourself be bitten. It is walking wounded by beauty. Come, dear dogs, my books, devour me. Leave my white bones.