Yesterday, I was sorting through a box of children's books a co-worker had given me. Almost all of the books had a name scribbled inside the front cover. These names were of individuals who previously owned the book. Some of the books had graced a classroom shelf, a home library, and others a child's bedroom bookshelf. I then began to ponder about the lives of books. I'm not speaking of the life of a particular title or a new, fresh-from-the bookstore book, but a used hardcover or paperback book. A book that has been read, shared, and passed around from parent to child, sibling to sibling, and friend to friend.