Tell me what you read and I’ll tell you who you are is true enough, but I’d know you better if you told me what you reread.
It’s easy to agree with Mauriac; there are many reasons that can bring you to read a book; maybe your teacher told you to, or a friend suggested it, you could be into a reading group, the book could be a classic or a best-seller. You could have casually bumped on it. To end this short list you could even be reading it to hit on someone. Many discussions have been made about the probability to like a book, given the reason that brought it into your hands, but that’s not the issue of this post. Instead, rereading a book means you liked not only the plot, when there is, but also the writing and the passages which amaze you as much as the first time you read it.
Now, there’s a number of great books I would reread, but I’ve never felt the urge to do it. After my first academic year (during which I read nearly nothing which didn’t contain a definition or a theorem every two paragraphs) I resumed visiting my local library and saw twenty new books I planned to read. Last week I registered to Goodreads and added 50 books to the to-read shelf while rating the one I’ve read in the last two or three years; new recommendations are coming day after day.
There are simply too many books out there that deserve to be read at list one time, how can I indulge in reading what I have already read? Not that it won’t worth the time, I feel like there’s not enough time. I’m still young though, I can imagine myself rereading something when I’m thirty or forty, but I can’t see myself restarting a book in the near future. I feel like an explorer, in which the desire to discover new worlds continuously overcome the pleasure of staying long in a place , however beautiful could it be.