Frequently, I procure volumes yet seldom peruse them, leading to an ever-accumulating stack. The virtue of this habit remains ambiguous. In time, these tomes may eclipse my abode, forming a formidable range that could ravage the terrain. Such a prospect, even to myself, is daunting, evoking visions of colossal summits comprised solely of neglected works, their bindings etching stark escarpments against the heavens.