Listened to the radio this morning, to a man talking about a dead relative’s valuable book collection. He started off by thinking that the book collection defined the man. He ended up, as he disposed of it, item by item, thinking that what we possess is easily lost, easily disposed of. It cannot define us. This is a somewhat liberating thought. I may well start de-cluttering with a less heavy heart. Incidentally, he remembered, not the collections , but the harsh words by this relative.
First editions or Firsts instincts?