important of books in your life . essay
Answers
Explanation:
Books plays an important role in in our life. It is said that books are our best companions. Books are our friends in a real sense. They demand nothing from us. They give us plenty of joy. We also learn a lot from them. They take us into a different world of imagination.A books consists of long written work. It may be published form either in physical form or in electronic form.
Good books improve our standard of living. They tone up our intellectual taste they make our outlook broad. They console us when we are depressed.
Books encourage us when we are defeated. They inspire us to work hard with hope and courage. They remove our ignorance and add to our knowledge. Books enrich our experience and sharpen our intellect. Thus a good book is our true friend.
A man must avoid reading bad books. They may make our life miserable. We may have to suffer because of bad books. They develop in us bad habits. They mislead and misguide. Bad books ruin our intellect. They spoil our interest in reading good and serious books. We must avoid reading such bad and cheap books because they waste our time and energy.
We should develop a healthy habit of reading books. We must select the books carefully. We should read only good books. Reading good books has many advantages. Bad books spoil our character. They develop unhealthy habits in us. We should follow children and young men to read only good books. They should act upon the lessons they learn from such books. A good book is our ‘friend, philosopher and guide’.
Everybody wants pleasure in life. Man wants wealth and power for the sake of pleasure. He wants to have good health so that he may enjoy life more and more. In the modern age man seeks pleasure everywhere. All the discoveries and inventions of science are made for human happiness. Even saints and sanyasis live a life of suffering in this world for divine pleasure in the other world.
We can get pleasure from various things. Spots, games and films are some of them. But the reading of books gives us the real pleasure of life. When we read good book, we forget ourselves. We do not remember the care and anxieties of the world. We are sent into a land of beauty, imagination and happiness. So, books are the source of the greatest pleasure in life.
Well-read man is loved by all. He is a store house of information. He knows something of everything. A well read man can be very good talker. He can entertain us with his good talks. He shows his worth at a social function. He can talk about many things. So, we do not feel dullness and boredom in the company of such persons. This is another advantage of reading books.
Books are of different kinds. Some books deal with topics of general nature. Everybody likes to read those books. There are also some books on certain topics. Such books are written for a particular set of readers. A general reader likes to read books of general nature. They give us knowledge and pleasure.
They will be different for each of us, but the way in which they affect us will be similar. The core – and perhaps unexpected – thing that books do for us is simplify. It sounds odd, because we think of literature as sophisticated. But there are powerful ways in which books organise, and clarify our concerns – and in this sense simplify. Centrally, by telling a story a book is radically simpler than lived experience.
The writer omits a huge amount that could have been added in (and in life always – by necessity – is there). In the plot, we move from one important moment directly to the next – whereas in life there are endless sub-plots that distract and confuse us.
In a story, the key events of a marriage unfold across a few dozen pages: in life they are spread over many years and interleaved with hundreds of business meetings, holidays, hours spent watching television, chats with one’s parents, shopping trips and dentist’s appointments.
The compressed logic of a plot corrects the chaos of existence: the links between events can be made much more obvious. We understand – finally – what is going on. Writers often do a lot of explaining along the way. They frequently shed light on why a character is acting as they do; they reveal people’s secret thoughts and motives. The characters are much more clearly defined than the people we actually encounter.
On the page, we meet purer villains, braver more resourceful heroes, people whose suffering is more obvious or whose virtues are more striking than would ever normally be the case. They – and their actions – provide us with simplified targets for our emotional lives. We can love or revile them, pity them or condemn them more neatly than we ever can our friends and acquaintances. We need simplification because our minds get checkmated by the complexity of our lives.
The writer, on rare but hugely significant occasions, puts into words feelings that had long eluded us, they know us better than we know ourselves. They seem to be narrating our own stories, but with a clarity we could never achieve.
Literature corrects our native inarticulacy. So often we feel lost for words; we’re impressed by the sight of a bird wheeling in the dusk sky; we’re aware of a particular atmosphere at dawn, we love someone’s slightly wild but sympathetic manner. We struggle to verbalise our feelings; we may end up remarking: ‘that’s so nice’.
Our feelings seem too complex, subtle, vague and elusive for us to be able to spell out. The ideal writer homes in on a few striking things: the angle of the wing; the slow movement of the largest branch of a tree; the angle of the mouth in a smile. Simplification doesn’t betray the nuance of life, it renders life more visible.
The great writers build bridges to people we might otherwise have dismissed as unfeasibly strange or unsympathetic. They cut through to the common core of experience. By selection and emphasis, they reveal the important things we share. They show us where to look. They help us to feel. Often we want to be good, we want to care, we want to feel warmly and tenderly – but can’t. It seems there is no suitable receptacle in our ordinary lives into which our emotions can vent themselves.
Our relationships are too compromised and fraught. It can feel too risky to be very nice to someone who might not reciprocate. So we don’t do much feeling; we freeze over. But then – in the pages of a story – we meet someone, perhaps she is very beautiful, tender, sensitive, young and dying; and we weep for her and all the cruelty and injustice of the world. And we come away, not devastated, but refreshed. Our emotional muscles are exercised and their strength rendered newly available for our lives.
Not all books necessarily contain the simplifications we happen to need. We are often not in the right place to make use of the knowledge a book has to offer. The task of linking the right book to the right person at the right time hasn’t yet received the attention it deserves: newspapers and friends recommend books to us because they work for them, without quite thinking through why they might also work for us.
But when we happen to come across the ideal book for us we are presented with an extraordinarily clearer, more lucid, better organised account of our own concerns and experiences: for a time at least our minds become less clouded and our hearts become more accurately sensitive.
Through books’ benign simplification, we become a little better at being who we always really were.