I’m often confused by the statements “I don’t read” “I don’t like reading” or “Reading is boring”. How can people believe this?
While I have been busy with everyday life, my stockpile of To-Be-Read books has grown. Recently I picked up “The Last Unicorn” by Peter S. Beagle. I’m enamored. I had forgotten how a good book can transport you into the world it describes. I’m reading, but I’m not; I’m standing there, a phantom, watching the harpie breathe, here eyes glowing with hate, body larger than life and yet not. I’m standing there, a ghost as the Red Bull grows larger than the sky and herds the unicorn toward the sea. I see Shmendrick the magician’s body fill with magic, the words leaving his lips with a quiet but angry power as he transforms a beautiful creature into a young girl. I am there, standing, invisible, as the Lady Amalthea cries without tears, forgetting who she is and what here purpose is. I grieve for her loss; I yearn for her triumph!
How can people be so blind to the beauty of a book?
Posted on 30 March, 2014Reblogged from pleatedjeans
*adopts 420 children* haha raise it
don’t you mean blaze it?
NO YOU DON’T BLAZE 420 CHILDREN THAT’S WRONG