The house was a vast labyrinth of books. Volumes were stacked from floor to ceiling on every wall, dark, crackling, redolent of leather bindings, smooth to the touch, with their gold titles and translucent gilt-edged pages and delicate typography.

The past was still a Golden Age, of ignorance, while the present is an Iron Age of willful bliss.

Finally, he explained to me that suffering occurs when we want other people to love us in the way we imagine we want to be loved, and not in the way that love should manifest itself-free and untrammeled , guiding us with its force and driving us on.

Written By Paulo Coelho

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