The book itself is a curious artifact, not showy in its technology but complex and extremely efficient: a really neat little device, compact, often very pleasant to look at and handle, that can last decades, even centuries. It doesn’t have to be plugged in, activated, or performed by a machine; all it needs is light, a human eye, and a human mind. It is not one of a kind, and it is not ephemeral. It lasts. It is reliable. If a book told you something when you were fifteen, it will tell you again when you’re fifty, though you may understand it so differently that it seems you’re reading a whole new book
Ursula K. Le Guin (via iwaschangedforgood)
Beautiful words in the wake of a generation where the book, as we know it, is slowly being lost to modernity—the Internet, electronic devices, etcetera.
I have always viewed books as meaningful artifacts. When I read, I’d much rather look at pages I can touch and feel, rather than straining my eyes and brain trying to focus on a computer or electronic screen for hours. There’s also always been a sense of suspense or fulfillment for me with the turn of a page.