Books are my friends, my companions. They make me laugh and cry and find meaning in life.

There is much you can learn from books and scrolls. These books are my friends, my companions. They make me laugh and cry and find meaning in life.

Who is it who decides that one man should live and another should die? My life wasn't worth any more than his, but he's the one who's buried, while I get to enjoy at least a few more hours above the ground. Is it chance, random and cruel, or is there some purpose or pattern to all this, even if it lies beyond our ken?

Book should go where they will be most appreciated, and not sit unread, gathering dust on a forgotten shelf, don't you agree?