Favorite books are like old friends. They remind me of who I was, who I am, and where I’m going. I think I know them completely, but a fresh read often provides surprises. What I forgot is as significant as what I remember, and my feelings about the characters and plot sometimes change as well.
Diving into a favorite book at the end of a long day is a unique kind of joy. Different from the excitement of a new book by a favorite author, it’s the more restful contentment of a return to a familiar place that nevertheless contains surprises.