I've always wanted a big book. There is something about a big book : it invites big thoughts, it encourages big projects, it promises to leave a big impression for those who follow on. I have often seen big books in the dusty windows of side-streeted stationery shops. Minute books, ledgers, anything-but-commonplace books. I am seized by an almost physical desire to go in and buy one even though I would have nothing to put in it. Such books can't be filled with shopping lists, to-do lists and half-remembered Internet passwords. The book I carry around with me is tiny, it fits in my back pocket. It is convenient, it is handy, it is a canvass wide enough to encompass my modest life. But I wish I had a big book. Leather bound, marbled end-paged. One you could press a rose in.