Rob picks up the paper from our sidewalk on his way to the bus each morning. Each night, he returns with only the parts that he thinks I would find interesting. Quite an efficient way for me to read the paper if you ask me.
The other day, he said, “I brought you an article about the Berenstain Bear’s author. She died.”
“Oh, no!” Katherine said. “But I want more stories!”
And I couldn’t help thinking about how that is the true beauty of books. There will always be more stories. Maybe not new ones. But each time we read a book we are a little bit different, so the story affects us in a different way.
So always more stories. Always.
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