In Ink on a Flyleaf, Forever Yours

The New York Times scrawls on the internet a brief lament. That is, when books go, and we move more and more towards Kindles, Nooks and iPads, we'll lose the personal inscription scrawled inside the books people gave others as gifts.

From the piece...

I acquired my first inscribed books inadvertently. My great-aunt Aida, who died more than 40 years ago, still speaks to me simply through something she wrote on May 27, 1967, in a book of paintings by her husband:

To Peter,

With love from his godmother.

I can’t remember when exactly I started buying books that were signed or inscribed by authors I don’t know personally. But certainly the many readings and signings in New York City, to which I moved a dozen years ago, played a role. Now, no matter what city I’m in, I’m likely to visit its shops of rare and used books. For instance, on a trip to New Orleans, I bought a copy of “North Toward Home,” a memoir by Willie Morris. It was inscribed, on Nov. 28, 1967, in Morris’s elegant hand, to Abby Catledge, the second wife of Turner Catledge, a former executive editor of The Times:

For such a lovely

woman, in the hope she

will find in these pages

some indication of the

love and great emotion

I feel for the place we

have in common —

Willie Morris

The personality comes through.