Being rich is not about how much money you have or how many homes you own; it’s the freedom to buy any book you want without looking at the price and wondering if you can afford it.
I love this quote.
I know people with multiple homes and cars who travel like Columbus still bleating misery oozing from their well-tended pores. They have books strewed all over their duplexes and triplexes they’ve never opened, bought merely as decor.
I have an acquaintance who gets the New York Times Book Review every Sunday just to see what’s on the Best Seller list so she can hurry out to buy them for her coffee table that, by the way, doesn’t read either.
She has diamonds for day and bigger ones for night. A maid sleeps in, just so she can help madam undress before retiring as if she were Marie Antoinette (and we know what happened to her).
The woman has everything under the sun except the pure experience of lolling between the pages of a great biography or historical novel.
I can’t imagine how I’d be never reading Pride & Prejudice or being given a copy of the latest Doris Kearns Goodwin when I couldn’t afford it myself. I remember how happy it made me to feel, its weight on my lap knowing it belonged solely to me and I didn’t have to return it in three weeks time to the library.
I actually leave it out where I can see it ( The Bully Pulpit), Teddy and Taft gracing the cover.
To buy books with sheer abandonment is on my Christmas list. Not a trip to the Riviera with nothing to read but the directions on my prescription drug vials.