I’d like to buy all the books by Tolstoy and Dostoevsky that I’ve read but don’t own. Also everything by Daudet. And Victor Hugo. Sometimes I ask myself what I did with those books, how I could have lost them, where I lost them. Other times I ask myself why I want them if I’ve already read them, when reading books is the only way to hold on to them forever. The only plausible answer is that I want them for my children. But I know that’s not a fair answer: you have to leave home to find the books that are waiting for you.

"Pages Written on Jacob’s Ladder" by Roberto Bolaño, from Between Parentheses