"It
had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books
had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming
up of themselves like grass. Yet regardless of where they came from, 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. Still illiterate, I was ready for
them, committed to all the reading I could give them."
-Eudora Welty
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