My library is spacious and well arranged, but I have the same problem that less fortunate people have, which is that certain books are constantly on the move. It is not enough for them to stand on a convenient shelf, within easy sight or reach; they tend to preempt an otherwise useful corner of an already overburdened table, ready to be picked up at the most random of times.
Books that qualify for such a privileged, though precarious, existence are either those whose contents give one instant poetic pleasure or those that are
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