Read

I spent the afternoon yesterday browsing through Powell’s Books in Portland. I could spend endless happy hours in a good bookstore. And in the “world’s biggest new and used bookstore,” I could spend endless happy days.

But there is something that depresses me about being in the presence of so many books. It’s the brutal reminder that I will never be able to read all of them. It’s the vast world of knowledge stacked on shelves that will never enter my consciousness. The percentage of facts that exist in the bookstore compared to the percentage contained in my brain is such a large fraction that it crushes me.

I bought five books yesterday. Gotta start somewhere.