IMO that sucks. You do nothing to support the people whose work you enjoy.
In my case most of them are the likes of Plato, Oscar Wilde, or Agatha Christie. So I don't feel particularly guilty to be honest.
The belief that man is an irresolute creature pulled this way and that by two forces of equal strength, alternately winning and losing the battle for his soul; the conviction that human life is nothing more than an uncertain struggle between heaven and hell; the faith in two opposed entities, Satan and Christ - all this was bound to engender those internal discords in which the mind, excited by the incessant fighting, stimulated as it were by the constant promises and threats, ends up by giving in and prostitutes itself to whichever of the two combatants has been more obstinate in its pursuit. Life isn't black and white, it's gold.
The Silkworm by "Robert Galbraith" aka JK Rowling
The Jade Peony by Wayson Choy
The Fall of Five by Pittacus Lore
The Revenge of Seven by Pittacus Lore
Under the Dome by Stephen King (currently reading)