I like buying old books. There’s a mystique that old books have that’s hard to replicate in any other type of media. I often don’t even read them… I just thumb through them, smell the old musty pages, then put them on the shelf where I can admire their bindings.
I own books from which I’ve never gleaned a single word. I don’t know their contents and I don’t even care.
I find pleasure in judging a book by its cover.
I think this is acceptable when it’s a book, but people are different. People are much more complex and complicated than books. There’s much more to people than their exterior bindings; where they live, what they do, and with whom they associate. At times it’s hard to look past a person’s cover and reconsider what you think you know.
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