The work is not a fixed object, apprehended in some marvellous epiphany by a reader, so that forever after the unchanging reader holds an unchanging image of the work in mind. Rather the work changes as we know it, and we change too as we know. We see this most easily when we return to a well-loved book and read it again. Suddenly meanings we had not seen before crowd upon us. We think: the book has not changed. But the meaning of the book, the work we apprehend, has changed, and this is all the book that we know. We know too that the change is in us, that while we were not looking, we changed, and in each instant of apprehension, we change again.