Today's books are made of paper. Yesterday's books were made of skin. The Bible is the only book made of air. It is a flood of ink and wind, a mad book, adrift in its meaning, as lost in its pages as the wind on supermarket parking lots, in women's hair, in the eyes of children. A book that is impossible to hold calmly between our hands for a prudent, distant reading. It takes flight on the spot, scatters the sand of its phrases through our fingers.
— Christian Bobin, The Very Lowly