Chapter 29 breath of books (2)

Oh sweet breath is my old book, They are positioned with their backs to the high wall. They are better than flowers and these books are all mine!What does the change of seasons mean to them?Neither the drought of summer nor the rigors of winter can wither or change them.They are the same at all times and in all circumstances - radiant, fragrant, hopeful, wholesome!There is no charm that they do not possess, no beauty that does not belong to them. Is it any wonder that since ancient times people have longed to take to their grave some of the books they held dearest while alive?Even King Numa was prepared to have his book buried with him.Of these precious tomes, twenty-four volumes were entrusted to the tomb with him.Gabriel Rossetti [Rosetti (1828-1882) was an English poet and painter, one of the main founders of the Pre-Raphaelites. When his wife died, the poet threw his unfinished volume of poetry into his wife's open grave.That was the last and most precious gift he could give his wife, to keep in her memory forever.

History records one instance after another of comforting the dying in this way: simply giving him books to read to, and many placing a favorite volume in his hand as he dies.This reverence for books, which even Baiding possessed, is evidenced by the fact that many libraries of note were sometimes founded from funds bequeathed by illiterates.How terrible must be the last hours of those who steadfastly refuse to share in the friendship of books, and to acknowledge their benefits! This is indeed the respect I have for these friendships, which I can't help but feel somewhat painfully at the thought of the possibility of parting from them before long.I have told my friends to make sure that my books will be buried with me when I go to the dust.A list of these books can be found in the left-hand drawer of an old-fashioned mahogany desk in my bare front room.

when i die won't have a son Come grab these treasures like a vulture Not only that, please donate half of them for my inscription let them share my tomb Then, when the rumble of doom Rolling on Marble and dust will hide me i'll sneak home Take away every precious tome Don't worry about a wife coming and berating me The fear of being separated by death from the object of one's love has haunted mankind from the beginning.Hindus have a habit of asking their widows to be buried alive in a selfish way.The North American Indian insisted that his horse, his bow, his spear, and all the odds and ends he cherished should share his grave with him.

My sister, Miss Susan, was ready to have her treasured collection of curios buried with her when she died.The list, as I recall, included: a mahogany four-poster bed frame, a neoclassical dresser, a brass saucepan, a pair of brass firewood stands, a Louis XV dining table, a five A teapot from the Moonflower, a large wooden tray from Washington's Mausoleum, a tin beer mug, a pair of candle holders left by her grandmother, a Paul Revere lantern, a tall Dutch clock, a complete set from Rome armor, a collection of Japanese knick-knacks—given to Miss Susan by a returning missionary. I really don't see how Miss Susan is likely to need all these odds and ends in an afterlife.However, should my poor sister die before me, I have no doubts to comply with her wishes, even if it would have to erect a monument like Cheops. The second king of the Fourth Dynasty, famous for ordering the construction of the Great Pyramid of Giza. 】Pyramid-sized tombs.