Finish reading a book and stand in front of that exciting abyss that is the library, where there are so many voices, so many themes, so much history of beauty and human thought, and of love, because I think that ultimately that is the great subject of everything written.
Randomly open a lid, a door, play guess who could have said / written that, go slowly from one shelf to another, conjure demons and witches, unholy gods and good gods, knights errant and heroines of impossible cities.
I don't know what leads us to seek the daily company of books, but being here, being there, with them, is the closest thing to walking from century to century, sniffing fields, courts, departments, streets, rivers, oceans. Maybe it's the wish of the trip, Piglia says something like that, right? that one of the bases of the stories of all time is the desire for movement, for travel.
Someday they will disappear, perhaps, devoured by digital swarms, I do not deny that, everything has its apogee, its end, its auction.
But if so, I hope that what comes, what happens, also speaks of love and movement.