book-ish confessions | ramblings


There aren’t enough books in the world. 

I’ve came to this realization the other day and it stings. There aren’t enough books in the world and it’s quite dramatic.

On the other hand, there are too many. But none of those out there can ever be good enough. 

People write about love, friendship, adventures, misadventures, grief and lost. They’ll write letters, poems, prose and fiction. There is a sea of books and if you put your hand out there enough, I’ll end up bitten by one of them. I like to read books that bite, but even more importantly, I like to gift books that bite.

Now, I don’t like buying books for others, I see it as quite a personal thing, that you have to do yourself – like buying underwear. But when I think of a perfect gift, a book always comes to mind. To purchase someone a journey from their own couch can be quite a bargain. To have someone find themselves in written words and cure them from loneliness is priceless. We often give people gifts in hope that they’ll enjoy them, but the most precious gifts we can give is something we’ve enjoyed ourselves. It’s like earring someone’s favorite song, you get to know them a little better. Giving books we’ve found ourselves in before is giving a little bit of ourselves in it.
That’s why I believe it is pointless to buy books for others that you have no recollection of.

I like to walk around bookshops, I like the endless possibilities there. Way to often I’ll find books that I’d like to read, but quite rarely do I find something I’d like to offer.

The other day, at one of my favourite spots, while wandering alone in the poetry section, my fingers stumbled upon a poetry book that made me think of someone dear. I sat on the couch, and made my way though the pages. It didn’t took too long before finding out I’d be taking it with me.

We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the starts. (Oscar Wilde)

Something I’ve read once and treasured dearly ever since.

I decided to give a little bit of myself, the book was just collateral damage. Because the truth there aren’t enough books in the world. Not when you want to gift someone you care for.

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