I've been schlepping books around for decades. The one I'm rereading now, Fate is Remarkable by Betty Neels (I'm guest-reviewing it for The Uncrushable Jersey Dress; my review should be up in early April), is so old that not only was it published in 1970, but it was written back when shillings still meant something. Even I was young in the 1960s.
At various times in my life, I've wondered if I'd ever read these books again. The entire Betty Neels canon, for example, or all of Barbara Delinski's Harlequins, or Elizabeth Mansfield's Signet Regencies. Everything Candace Camp wrote under every pseudonym she ever used. All the books by Mary Jo Putney, Joan Wolf, Joan Smith, Mira Stables, Lynn Kerstan, Glenda Sanders, Laura Kinsale, LaVyrle Spencer, Susan Elizabeth Phillips. I don't even remember many of these books; I just know I loved them when I read so much, I can't get rid of them.
But I did have doubts I'd ever reread them. And here I am, rereading all of Betty Neels's books (although I'm still falling behind the juggernaut that is the Bettys of UJD -- two books a week is a rigorous workout), rereading Lynn Kerstan, Joan Wolf, Glenda Sanders, LaVyrle Spencer, and Mira Stables, to name a few.
You know what? It's great. All those books I saved because I loved them back then? I still love them. I can't recapture the feelings I had the first (or second, third, fourth . . .) time I read them, but I'm discovering new and exciting things even on the unpteenth reading.
So hurray for rereading even very old books. It's not like re-encountering old & familiar friends and being bored. Rather, it's like meeting people again and appreciating things you'd previously overlooked.