A banned book is a book that accidentally wandered into a power structure and stepped on its tail.
Censorship’s greatest flaw is that it forgets how attractive forbidden fruit becomes when somebody hangs a warning sign around its neck.
Ban a book and you don’t bury it. You season it.
You marinate it in human appetite.
You turn literature into moonshine.
A tote bag is the camel of ideas.
It kneels stately and patiently beside civilization’s campfire,
waiting for somebody to load it with contraband truths.
A tote bag has never started a war,
but it has smuggled countless revolutions into libraries, classrooms, coffee shops, and city buses.
It is the unofficial pack mule of curiosity and convenience.
