Books Have Led Some To

And Tears Are Heard Within The Harp I Touch.

Books Have Led Some To Learning And Others To Madness.

All Pleasure In The World Is A Passing Dream.

Hope Is Incredible To The Slave Of Grief.

Gold, Silver, Jewels, Purple Garments, Houses Built Of Marble, Groomed Estates, Pious Paintings, Caparisoned Steeds, And Other Things Of This Kind Offer A Mutable And Superficial Pleasure; Books Give Delight To The Very Marrow Of One's Bones. They Speak To Us, Consult With Us, And Join With Us In A Living And Intense Intimacy.