I do not choose the books I get to read the books choose me, the time when the black ink is taking shape in some press it knows who all it has to reach to, the moment the writer committed the words to the paper its flies to the ones who need it, in order to inspire the next, it stops belonging to the writer, he is like the instrument which has finished his task, similarly like a humming machine which has been switched off after its work it just dies silently till the time its time for it to produce again. The writer knows this as well once its given to the paper its gone he does not claim it because he / she knows it will reach who those ears which will need it.
Out of the million of books why the one I have or read have landed in my hands, there is a reason behind it. And its this that these books have chosen me and not the opposite.
Azal