I think there's a difference between a love of learning and a lust for knowledge. There's a kind of greediness that I sense if I do not watch myself when reading. I need to ask, when I get sucked into the black hole of knowledge--what is worth knowing? 

I need to keep in mind--- 
I can know all things and fail to love, 
I can know all things and miss wisdom,
I can know all things and fail concerning my life's calling,
and I can lose my ability to learn and think without warning--but that does not take away from my worth or identity or how much the Father loves me. 

Knowledge must be put into perspective.

Knowledge must also be applied by the Spirit--how else can it be affected into my life? To have my mind be full and nothing rearranged would be a waste. To chew one's dinner for days and never swallow won't fill one's stomach. 

There's a feeling of comfort in learning through books. The walls are padded there: you may experience regret, disgust, shame, guilt, and exhilaration--but then when you put the book down, you remember the pillow propped behind your back, and the five layers of cotton and polyester swaddled around you. A book may disturb you like a bad dream, but you can always open your eyes and remember you never left your bed.

To live, to experience, to inhabit, to "step outside"--that is what is truly terrifying.

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."-JRR Tolkien

But, of course, it is not only terrifying--it is also a lot of hard work. Sometimes it is hard because it is strenuous, and requires sacrifice and setting up boundaries for yourself that deny yourself pleasure, and sometimes it is hard because it is entirely mundane. But of course, to view something as "mundane" and to regard it as insignificant because it doesn't appear glamorous or exciting or meaningful--that denies the teaching of the Bible. The seemingly small obediences are seen by God, and we are destined for the return of Jesus. We aren't wandering in circles in the wilderness, we are traveling to the Promised Land.

Not that We loved Him, but that He loved Us

All those expressions of unworthiness which Christian practice puts into the believer's mouth seem to the outer world like the degraded and insincere grovellings of a sycophant before a tyrant, or at best a facon de parler like the self-depreciation of a Chinese gentleman when he calls himself "this coarse and illiterate person." In reality, however, they express the continually renewed, because continually necessary, attempt to negate that misconception of ourselves and of our relation to God which nature, even while we pray, is always recommending to us. No sooner do we believe that God loves us than there is an impulse to believe that He does so, not because He is Love, but because we are intrinsically lovable.

The Pagans obeyed this impulse unabashed; a good man was "dear to the gods" because he was good. We, being better taught, resort to subterfuge. Far be it from us to think we have virtues for which God could love us.

...Beaten out of this, we next offer our own humility to God's admiration. Surely He'll like that? Or if not that, our clear-sighted and humble recognition that we still lack humility. Thus, depth beneath depth and subtlety within subtlety, there remains some lingering idea of our own, our very own, attractiveness. It is easy to acknowledge, but almost impossible to realize for long, that we are mirrors whose brightness, if we are bright, is wholly derived from the sun that shines upon us. Surely we must have a little--however little--native luminosity?

--C.S. Lewis, "The Four Loves"