I, being a ferocious (a. savagely fierce, cruel, or violent; an interesting adjective to use in this sentence) and an avid reader of literary works and such, read The New Yorker back to back, cover to cover. Quite literally. Now think of the time spent doing that.
What happens when one reads such ferociously? In the immortal words of Umberto Eco – “We live for books”. And eventually one will live just for one purpose: to read. Thus one becomes a creature long known as bookworm.
Time is a paradox, a measurement of how much we read.