I dreamt that I bought a magnificent house right in the middle of old Dubrovnik. I thought of it as Venice, though. I had the house carefully refurbished. On its three floors I had bookcases meticulously built. There was not a single piece of other furniture in the house. There were no utilities of any kind, either. All walls were covered with books and nothing but books. On the first two floors, the bookcases were covered with glass. The ground floor was dedicated to old books in Greek. Actually, they were in Latin. The floor above was dedicated to old Latin books. They were in Croatian, though. And the top floor was meant for Croatian books. As a matter of fact, they were the books I actually have in Motovun, which are almost entirely in English. I was aware of all the classification problems concerning my library, of which I was very proud, but I doggedly stuck with it regardless. When I woke up, I marveled at the fake and futile world I had constructed for myself. And in an entirely wrong place.