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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.
All books grow homilies by time; they are
Temples, at once, and Landmarks.
All books grow homilies by time; they are
Temples, at once, and Landmarks.
Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested.
Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested.
Ideally a book would have no order to it, and the reader would have to discover his own.
Ideally a book would have no order to it, and the reader would have to discover his own.
Books are like a mirror. If an ass looks in, you can't expect an angel to look out.
Books are like a mirror. If an ass looks in, you can't expect an angel to look out.
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!
Books are lighthouses erected in the great sea of time
Books are lighthouses erected in the great sea of time
Books are good enough in their own way, but they are a poor substitute for life.
Books are good enough in their own way, but they are a poor substitute for life.
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.
