I don't even need to read one. Just being close to... surrounded by... generates a certain satisfaction. And the feeling; joints and bones themselves fill rich with joy as the pads of my fingers caress the thickness of stacked paper. So decadently filled with words it sets my tongue to salvation and my teeth to anticipation. Sometimes I just want to know, and knowing is enough, that I can soak in the flavour presented before me. It's ready and ripe and waiting, the tickling expanse of thought poised to be enveloped into me.
I revel even in the presence of folded page. Potential energy drives me, foreplay of the mind. Joy in a tightly bound bundle. The brilliant power of the silent written word.