Sunday, November 13, 2011


I pick up an old paper back book; touch the newsprint pages, and I smell the scent of aging pulp. Suddenly, I am twelve years old again: and all the forests of Middle Earth, the red hills Barsoom, the stygian wastes of Arrakis and even the rough beauty of Cimmeria, lay before me... Worlds within worlds encompassed by words upon words.

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