I've got one of my mother's books, perhaps it was even her mother's, it's a copy of the Complete Works of William Shakespeare or something (I forget the exact title, but it's close enough). The pages are a nice spotted creamy worn color, and slowly fade into a dark tan around the edges, from age. The book is huge - probably 6 inches thick - and in a small, old-fashioned type... and the smell... marvelous! I love it, the pages smell sweet, almost, and have a terribly nice texture to them. It's a bit wobbly but hard-cover and just feels so much nicer to thumb through and read than a modern printing of a book.
I began reading through it a few days ago; so far I've read the Tempest and now I'm working on the Two Gentlemen of Verona. It's funny how much more I appreciate it all, now, it's so much easier to read than when I was in high school and makes so much more sense. And it's so funny - I've found myself nearly laughing out loud at some of the dialogue, I forgot how funny some of it is. Fencing with words, back and forth, it's quite amusing.
I'm very tempted to spend tonight in bed reading. Very. Hmm.