Can you imagine a world without books? Where hands never went to keys, pen never went to paper, quill never went to parchment? 

If I were to paint a picture of this world, it would be bleak and dark. It might not even exist. Because without books we may still be able to talk, but we probably wouldn’t be able to understand the person who lives at the end of the street and talks a completely different dialect with meanings we can’t begin to grasp. What about understanding other languages entirely? Without books, forget it. 

What would we know about the rest of the world, anyway? Without books, we know nothing but what we can see. The world outside of our own two eyes doesn’t exist. 

Technology? Inventions? Innovations? Art, music? Well, where do you think the inventors and musicians learned their knowledge? Where do artists get their inspiration? 

Imagination would be a tiny, insignificant thing, contained only in our minds and only shared with the people we can communicate with. More mistakes are repeated. Fewer steps forward are made, if any at all. 

Because without books, humanity would have crumbled long ago.