I love reference books. Dictionaries, encyclopedias, and indexes make up a large proportion of my personal library. There is little I like better than to wander through piles of information, of the known, willy-nilly.
There is so much I will never know, guess, understand. When I was little, this used to frighten me. I so much wanted to be full, to be done, to be perfect. And the mind-boggling tide of what could never be named, categorized, or known, goaded me into a race I could neither win nor finish.
Eventually, a wave in that tide slammed me into the sand and knocked the wind, or perhaps the pride, right out of me. I will never be full, or done, or perfect. I can never master the tide. (Canute, anyone?) But I can hold it in awe. And perhaps, I can even learn how to surf it.