It is very risky. But each time a child opens a book, he pushes open the gate that separates him from Elsewhere.
No detail must be left out, not even a dog with ticks or a neighbours boy who ate an insect on a dare. The smell of pantries, the sense of empty afternoons, the feel of things as they rained across our skin, things as facts and passions, the feel of pain, loss, disappointment, breathless delight. In these night recitations we create a space between things as we felt them as the time and as we speak them now. This is the space reserved for irony, sympathy and fond amusement, the means by which we rescue ourselves from the past.
I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them—with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself.
You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.
Do not despise your own place and hour. Every place is under the stars, every place is the center of the world.