Sunday, February 28, 2010

When I was fifteen, I was really smart. I read philosophers and was able to argue with them, in my own head of course. The reason I was so smart (not anymore I must confess) was that when in early childhood my grandfather recognized my desire for learning, he separated his five thousand book collection into two parts, and told me that the small part was for me to read, and the other one, where most of books without pictures went was not yet for me.  He even locked the book shelves with those books that were not for me but kind of showed me where the key was.