As time has passed I have collected old books. Really, really old books, shelves full of them and a gigantic wooden treasure chest filled as well. I never planned to collect old books but as I read one word after another I desperately needed more.
I love literature of the past. No one writes that way anymore, where it is in fact literature. As time passes, writers evolve and nowadays most write what they think readers want to read.
Back in the day writers wrote because they had to. A passion fueled them. It were the only way they knew their place in the world. Some wrote as a career. Some wrote as a hobby. All created wondrous beauty in their own unique way.
These books take me to a magical place that no longer exists. Places I intend to journey to over and over again.