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."

The book you don't read can't help

The book you don't read can't help

Books serve to show a man that those original thoughts of his aren't very new after all

Books serve to show a man that those original thoughts of his aren't very new after all

You, O Books, are the golden vessels of the temple, the arms of
the clerical militia with which the read more

You, O Books, are the golden vessels of the temple, the arms of
the clerical militia with which the missiles of the most wicked
are destroyed; fruitful olives, vines of Engaddi, fig-trees
knowing no sterility; burning lamps to be ever held in the hand.

A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.

A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.

This is the best book ever written by any man on the wrong side of a question of which he read more

This is the best book ever written by any man on the wrong side of a question of which he is profoundly ignorant.

My test of a good novel is dreading to begin the last chapter.

My test of a good novel is dreading to begin the last chapter.

Books are the legacies that a great genius leaves to mankind,
which are delivered down from generation to generation, read more

Books are the legacies that a great genius leaves to mankind,
which are delivered down from generation to generation, as
presents to the posterity of those who are yet unborn.

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.