To travel to the path of words, and then, to the path paved with sentences, so far, in my life has always been an arduous journey. May be it was because of the society where I was born; or the system where I was raised; or the absence of the sharp sheer among the people living here. Learning literature, they thought, was the best way of wasting the wonderful time! They even convinced me, sometimes that reading the literary stuff was pleasure-source for the socialite people but only a source of pain for the middle classed people like me. Matter-of-fact, what I have always believed is, a word wherever it may be taken—from laymen to socialite people— would remain the same word at last, unless how we put to use them in our ever-running life.

Turning the pages of books always kept me sentient and stimulating. The characters in the novel—fiction or non-fiction—had always a profound and purposeful impact on me. They, sooner or later, of course, made me believe that the plot was portrayed from my palpable life; and, even enlightened me with the endless dimensions to perceive a thing. Yes, I would definitely believe that the literature was no more than a mere hypothesis filled with endless words; however, it is the glass-of-literature that shows the world crystal clearly. Unless the elixir of literature is not brought into the real world, the world will never understand the indispensable impact of it in our daily life.

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