Every Text Assumes A Reader.

If The Library In The Morning Suggests An Echo Of The Severe And Reasonable Wishful Order Of The World, The Library At Night Seems To Rejoice In The World's Essential, Joyful Muddle.

The Shelves Of Books We Haven't Written, Like Those Of Books We Haven't Read, Stretches Out Into The Darkness Of The Universal Library's Farthest Space. We Are Always At The Beginning Of The Beginning Of The Letter A.

In Every Literate Society, Learning To Read Is Something Of An Initiation, A Ritualized Passage Out Of A State Of Dependency And Rudimentary Communication.

Each Book Was A World Unto Itself, And In It I Took Refuge.

Unicorns, Dragons, Witches May Be Creatures Conjured Up In Dreams, But On The Page Their Needs, Joys, Anguishes, And Redemptions Should Be Just As True As Those Of Madame Bovary Or Martin Chuzzlewit.