I have a book addiction.
New books.
Used Books.
Old books.
Very old books.
Books printed on rag paper. Books with blindstamped pigskin over old wooden boards with brass clasps and corner pieces. Books that were new when Elizabeth I still sat on the throne of England and was romping with Sir Walter Raliegh and the Earl of Essex. Books that could have come from the library of John Dee or Elias Ashmole or Count Cagliostro. Books that may have been hidden on secret shelves to keep them from the flames of Inquisitorial bonfires.
Antiquarian vellum bindings are like black tar heroin to me.
I want to touch it.
Hold it.
Caress it.
Smell it.
Sleep with it.
I mean...in a totally platonic way of course.
Yes...I am a bibliophile. I suffer from a gentle madness.
I think I need to start a support group.
tamara_rose...I know you understand!