Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy. Lord, there were a lot of lovely books once, before we let them go.

Reality and Fiction are different in that fiction has to make sense.

I'm inclined to believe you need the psychiatrist.

You have to know how to accept rejection and reject acceptance.

I felt a bit bookish, cut off from life.

Memory is an illusion, nothing more. It is a fire that needs constant tending.

Impossible; for how many people did you know who refracted your own light to you?