Many authors have learned to capitalize on this short-attention-span phenomenon by writing books that are little more than 205 to 224 pages in length; chapters are limited to 2 or 3 pages to accommodate the inability to focus on the task at hand for more than 10 or 15 minutes at a time.

It is a far different world for bibliophiles today than it was only a few decades ago, before television and the internet.

With Amazon's introduction of the Kindle, the death knell may already be sounding for print media.

We have entered an Andrew Marvellian metaphysical interregnum wherein we may not "sport us while we may.”

There is not “world enough, and time” to spend our days in idle pursuits, leis...

Many authors have learned to capitalize on this short-attention-span phenomenon by writing books that are little more than 205 to 224 pages in length; chapters are limited to 2 or 3 pages to accommodate the inability to focus on the task at hand for more than 10 or 15 minutes at a time.

It is a far different world for bibliophiles today than it was only a few decades ago, before television and the internet.

With Amazon's introduction of the Kindle, the death knell may already be sounding for print media.

We have entered an Andrew Marvellian metaphysical interregnum wherein we may not "sport us while we may.”

There is not “world enough, and time” to spend our days in idle pursuits, leisurely passing time, for “time's wingéd chariot” is ever racing along."

Faced with the persistent insistent lure of the internet, I doubt very much that, today, I would be able to devour the 1,000s of books I was given the time, occasion, and opportunity, to read during the first 60 sentient years of my life.

Is this a bad thing? Perhaps not. In a sense, I have become a Cyborg, a computer/human hybrid, able with a few clicks of the "mouse" on relevant tag words, to access whatever is of interest to me.

It's too late to turn back now and I wouldn't if I could.