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Books are curious things.
They have a sly ability to weave their way into your heart; of leading you into a completely different world. Might that be a fantasy world of magic and intrigue, such as the pages of Harry Potter, or a realistic life such as mine.
Either way, time travel, world travel, and deep inspiration are all possible, all reachable, through the mere reading of a book.
The best brand of books are the sort that keep you up throughout the night, flipping through the contents, evoking emotions the less-fortunate only feel in the real world.
The kind of novel that forces you to brew a pot of coffee just to stay awake in order to finish it, leaving you weary and exhausted the next day, yet understanding full well how very worth it it was.
But the basis of a good book is this: when you’ve finished it and feel a deep sense of remorse for the pages behind, scanning the library bookshelves for a book producing similar results, but coming to no luck.
That, reader, is a satisfactory book.
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