It is an act of finality; a sense of resignation pervades when a book which one treasured is placed on a shelf. One may deceive oneself that it can always be retrieved at some future, unknown and unspecified date, but in a world where the bombardment of newness and the constancy of moving on to the “next” thing dominates, the chances are that the act of shelving will constitute the gathering of dust in corners where forgotten memories will atrophy with cobwebs of deliberative disregard. […]