Great books

Surprising benefits arise from not having read at an appropriate time the books one ought to have read, of having saved them for a time when they may have more meaning, when we may be smart enough to keep ourselves nourished on them, page by page.  I am just reading SLAUGHTERHOUSE FIVE by Kurt Vonnegut, not half-way through its brittle pages yet, and Billy Pilgrim keeps breaking my heart.  In turn, Billy Pilgrim breaks my heart for all of us, which is to say, Kurt Vonnegut breaks my heart or reminds me that it has been broken for a very long time and it is not the worst thing I can think of.  How much worse it would be to think everything was fine.

Great books, those we haven't read, those we don't even know about, those that haven't been written, are the (non-explosive) helium filling the airships as they line up to carry us away.