We are the inheritors of a wonderful world, a beautiful world, full of life and mystery, goodness and pain. But likewise are we the children of an indifferent universe. We break our own hearts imposing our moral order on what is, by nature, a wide web of chaos.
The bookshop felt damp and chilly, but it was still and unsupervised bookshop, and Anna felt a frisson of excitement as she scanned the shelves with greedy eyes. Libraries weren’t quite the same, she’d found; something about the prosaic smell of other people’s houses and fingers seeping off the pages diluted that sense of magical worlds, but untouched, unread, unexplored books were something else.
We look on past ages with condescension, as a mere preparation for us….but what if we are a mere after-glow of them?