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Lloyd Alexander's tales were written and published when I was in diapers. Decades later, they remain utterly timeless for me. I cannot recommend them enough.

Tacked above my desk are photos of artists I admire - Hopper, Sargent, Twain - and postcards from beloved bookstores where I've spent all my time and money - Tattered Cover, Elliot Bay, Harvard Bookstore.

Paperbacks of those we deem classics should be cheap and sold at supermarkets.

I love to both give and receive very old books.

I have a shelf of comfort books, which I read when the world closes in on me or something untoward happens.

I have this obsession with really cool, old books.

After about fourth grade, I do remember borrowing my mother's old portable Olivetti and typing stories out on the back of photocopies of journal articles.

I understand the nostalgia of having paper to feel and smell when you read it, but I would rather have fond memories of newspapers that have become obsolete than fond memories of beautiful forests that have become obsolete.

I love old books. They tell you stories about their use. You can see where the fingerprints touched the pages as they held the book open. You can see how long they lingered on each page by the finger stains.

I think an art collection is a lot like a diary. Your taste evolves with time. I try to never sell anything, because it's part of my journey.