I give up. I went into a local antiquarian bookshop today and came out with a biography on Anaïs Nin and one of her diaries (volume six, they didn’t have the others). While paying for the books I confessed: “I promised myself not to buy any more books, but then I came in here…” and the antiquarian remarked: “What an odd promise!”.

YES. This is what I’ve felt all along. I can’t possibly deprive myself of the pleasure that buying and owning books means to my insatiable, bibliophilic soul any longer.

Yes, bookpiles will probably take over my studentroom and seriously limit any space to move. I’ll probably die in a veritable town of bookskyscrapers. A beautiful prospect.

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