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He who studies books alone will know how things ought to be, and he who studies men will know how read more
He who studies books alone will know how things ought to be, and he who studies men will know how they are.
The books we read should be chosen with great care, that they may be, as an Egyptian king wrote over read more
The books we read should be chosen with great care, that they may be, as an Egyptian king wrote over his library, "The medicines of the soul."
Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.
Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.
What is reading, but silent conversation.
What is reading, but silent conversation.
The best of a book is not the thought which it contains, but the thought which it suggests; just as read more
The best of a book is not the thought which it contains, but the thought which it suggests; just as the charm of music dwells not in the tones but in the echoes of our hearts.
The pleasure of reading is doubled when one lives with another who shares the same books.
The pleasure of reading is doubled when one lives with another who shares the same books.
These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves.
These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves.
An art book is a museum without walls.
An art book is a museum without walls.
Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret room
Piled high with cases in read more
Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret room
Piled high with cases in my father's name;
Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and out
Among the giant fossils of my past,
Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs
Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
At this or that box, pulling through the gap,
In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,
The first book first. And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning's dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books!
At last, because the time was ripe,
I chanced upon the poets.
