My husband and I were out antique shopping today. We didn't buy much of anything really, just some linen napkins. He became sucked into an old 1930's book about Freud. It really was a neat book and I tried to talk him into buying it, but he couldn't justify the 15 dollars when we were furniture shopping. This sparked a gravitation towards the book shelves every time we came across them. Well, the one store we went into had rows and rows of books. Along with some furniture we ALMOST bought. We are walking along and he starts making strange faces. "What?" I asked. "I..don't...WHAT is that horrible smell?" "It's the smell of aged books. It's lovely isn't it?" "Oh." He shrugged his shoulders, looked embarrassed and went to the next book rack in search of a gem. Silly boy, hasn't learned to enjoy the air in a used book store. It's like inhaling the intellect of multiple authors at one time and reaching to their soul, if you but open the pages of what they penned years and years ago.