They'll say, "Women are beautiful, like books." They'll thumb through, gently turning the pages, smelling the worn pulp, being careful not to hurt the old and exhausted spine. They'll say, "Beautiful.. aren't they just beautiful?" before placing the unread books back on their neatly lined shelves. Kant and Lawrence and Morrison will line either side of the fireplace for the next twelve years, and the homeowner will recline and sigh and think about how elegant their space looks lined with hardbacks and plays. And all across America libraries will lose funding because books are beautiful. Because they make a home feel full. Because the pages are old and perfect, unread, untouched, unloved, unopened vaults of ideas that can only be preserved through concept, potentially brilliant and bound in untouched beauty. Women are. Beautiful books.