Edward is the most learned person I know. I met him during a university course a few years back. He’s almost 60 years old and it was his seventh or eighth degree. I hadn’t seen him in a while but I dropped by his house yesterday to lend him some tools; he was refitting some floorboards and needed a circular saw. I brought my friend Stevie with me to check it out; he’s somewhat of a handyman and I thought he might be able to offer some advice. “That’s a shitload of books,” said Stevie, upon entering the house. An impressive number of first editions lined the hallway.
“Judge a man not by the number of books he owns, but by those that he chooses to read,” replied Edward, smugly.
“They must be some solid shelves too,” added Stevie; “you’d be surprised how much a book weighs.”
“A book’s weight can only be measured by its influence,” asserted Edward.
“You know you would’ve saved a lot of money by signing up with the local library” said Stevie, as we traversed through to the kitchen. “You could’ve read all this shit for free.”
For the first time ever, Edward was lost for words.
“Judge a man not by the number of books he owns, but by those that he chooses to read,” replied Edward, smugly.
“They must be some solid shelves too,” added Stevie; “you’d be surprised how much a book weighs.”
“A book’s weight can only be measured by its influence,” asserted Edward.
“You know you would’ve saved a lot of money by signing up with the local library” said Stevie, as we traversed through to the kitchen. “You could’ve read all this shit for free.”
For the first time ever, Edward was lost for words.