Of course, no one has moved any of these books, Gauss or Galileo or Newton, in simply ages. I read or re-read them, I confess, for much the same reasons as Terence reads his dime-novels, to recapture the thrill of first discovery.
Not that I cannot read the multiplicitous vernaculars since—well, I had a little Italian, and Galileo’s Dialogo was entertaining and well worth the effort.
“Do you think that she likes me?” Terence asks.
I size up the effort required. That snack was not substantial enough to support the outlay of an argument.
“Time will tell,” I say, and turn to my volume.
Terence grumbles a bit, declares this part of the library stacks crashingly dull, and drifts downstairs to the popular-culture archives.