Walking the stacks in a library, dragging your fingers across the spines -- it's hard
not to feel the presence of sleeping spirits.
After that, the book will fade, the way all books fade in your mind. But I hope you will remember this:
A man walking fast down a dark lonely street. Quick steps and hard breathing, all wonder and need. A bell above a door and the tinkle it makes. A clerk and a ladder and warm golden light, and then: the right book exactly, at exactly the right time.
Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in.
Neel takes a sharp breath and I know exactly what it means. It means: I have waited my whole life to walk through a secret passage built into a bookshelf.
He has the strangest expression on his face- the emotional equivalent of 404 PAGE NOT FOUND.
You know, I'm really starting to think the whole world is just a patchwork quilt of crazy little cults, all with their own secret spaces, their own records, their own rules.