The memory of a tone, the rhythm of an author's sentences, the sorrow we felt on a novel's last page - perhaps that is all that we can expect to keep from books. As we turn their pages, they amuse/shock/inspire/console/instruct us; but after we return them to our shelves or the public library, they linger in our souls only like the distant images of childhood. Years ago our elementary school was the burning center of the universe, a place of anxiety, triumph, and heartbreak. Now it's just a building whose windows we peer into on an idle Saturday afternoon., Once upon a time this playground may have helped shape our lives, but today it's simply the place we walk our dogs.
- Michael Dirda, "The One and the Many," in Readings, p.71
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