I love reading. It’s a habit I’ve had since my last years at college. For the past 25 years I’ve always been reading a book. I finish one and start another. However, even though many books have fascinated me, I’ve never gone back to reread any of them. Simply because there are so many books to read that I feel it’s a waste of time to return to something I’ve already read.

There are many books I would like to read again just to better understand certain parts—like the works of Tolstoy or Dostoevsky, or García Márquez’s very long One Hundred Years of Solitude—but my devotion to opening a new cover every time always wins. There are other books I start reading and just don’t get hooked. I simply don’t overthink it and look for another title right away.

The only exception has been Dracula by Bram Stoker. I’ve read it twice. The first time I read it in Spanish. The second time, in its original language, and that’s the version I liked the most.

“Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will.”