In this article it is spoken of the enthusiastic relation with the old and old book: a dense attraction that takes with as much at the most quiet a more attractive complicity between the scent and the color of those backs and those leaves slid by the time, more and more yellowish. Every day one more to taste feels engaging in a dialog with other time through that fetiche alive that was the old book. It enjoyed them, looking for them or finding them or following the tracks of where it could give with them.