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 Wise
(Minstrel or Sage,) out of their books are clay;
But in their books, as from read more

The Wise
(Minstrel or Sage,) out of their books are clay;
But in their books, as from their graves they rise.
Angels--that, side by side, upon our way,
Walk with and warn us!

If there's a book you really want to read but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it

If there's a book you really want to read but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it

Oh that one would hear me! behold, my desire is, that the
Almighty would answer me, and that mine read more

Oh that one would hear me! behold, my desire is, that the
Almighty would answer me, and that mine adversary had written a
book.

The book you don't read can't help

The book you don't read can't help

That place that does contain
My books, the best companions, is to me
A glorious court, where read more

That place that does contain
My books, the best companions, is to me
A glorious court, where hourly I converse
With the old sages and philosophers;
And sometimes, for variety, I confer
With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels;
Calling their victories, if unjustly got,
Unto a strict account, and, in my fancy,
Deface their ill-placed statues.

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.

Once we have learned to read, meaning of words can somehow register without consciousness.

Once we have learned to read, meaning of words can somehow register without consciousness.

It is all very well to be able to write books, but can you waggle your ears?

It is all very well to be able to write books, but can you waggle your ears?