From the story 'Liseuse' which I'm now writing and will publish sometime before the weekend.
“It’s a paragraph, a line or stanza of a poem and it’s your youth, the first time you tasted love on your lips. It’s that hot summer where you could do nothing but lay still and hope for breezes. It’s the winter when first you let your breath come out in frozen plumes of smoke. It’s the tombs of Ancient Egypt, the surface of the moon and the sewers of Paris. It’s not in the paper, young man, it’s here in the Liseuse I hold in my hand. And this Liseuse holds words and all the dreams of those who dared put those words down in other times. It’s the ideas reaching across history that cared not for paper and glue and old men turning to dust in the company of dust-ridden pages, but eyes and hearts. Always eyes and hearts.”