The books that I remember best are the ones I stole in Mexico City, between the ages of sixteen and nineteen, and the ones I bought in Chile when I was twenty, during the first few months of the coup. In Mexico there was an incredible bookstore. It was called the Glass Bookstore and it was on the Alameda. Its walls, even the ceiling, were glass. Glass and iron beams. From the outside, it seemed an impossible place to steal from. And yet prudence was overcome by the temptation to try and after a while I made the attempt.
Roberto BolaƱo, Who Would Dare?
Photo: A bookshop in Venice, 2010 (Alex Majoli/Magnum Photos)
(Source: nybooks)
How weird, the best book Ive ever read is also a stolen one. Maybe its the thrill or maybe the memory which adds to the...
Why am I not there? ;_;