From my Facebook feed:
Holding a copy of a book published exactly a century ago, 1913, that I bought on Amazon (for a ridiculously low price, and the book is in excellent shape). On the page facing the title page, I am told the book is from a run of 780 copies printed, of which this is No. 351, by the Shakespeare’s Head Press of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the UK. The 351 is in what looks to be very old ink, or perhaps pencil. I am struck by the thought that somewhere, a century ago, a printer’s apprentice in Stratford took a pen or pencil to this page, the page I’m holding now. I wonder if that person made it through the next five years, to 1918. Or what his (?) life was like. The page feels like a shuttered window, and on the other side, muffled against my voice, is the other person.
But seriously, enjoy your Kindles.