"You can't imagine,'' he answered, ''how much worse I should be if I were not religious.''
I have always loved going to bookstores, and despite the strong love I have for my Kindle, I still do even though I do most of my shopping online now. Some of the fondest memories from my early twenties involve me spending hours and hours in used bookstores feasting on the books with all my senses excluding taste. (I have learned the hard way that people don't take kindly to book-lickers.) I used to go book-shopping all the time when I was depressed because it can't be overstated how much finding a hidden treasure of literature at a sensible price can stimulate the pleasure centers of the brain.
This weekend, I found that bookstores make the good times even better when I drove down to Portland for my birthday just to go to Powell's bookstore.
I have included a photo of my haul and a few of my personal library after they were filed away by author and publication date. (There is also one of the sword my wife has been trained to use on anyone who tries to rearrange my books without regard to the alphabet.)
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