In My View, Nineteen Pounds

One Of The Convenient Things About Literature Is That, Despite Copyrights [...] A Book Belongs To The Reader As Well As To The Writer.

When I Visit A New Bookstore, I Demand Cleanliness, Computer Monitors, And Rigorous Alphabetization. When I Visit A Secondhand Bookstore, I Prefer Indifferent Housekeeping, Sleeping Cats, And Sufficient Organizational Chaos.

Muses Are Fickle, And Many A Writer, Peering Into The Voice, Has Escaped Paralysis By Ascribing The Creative Responsibility To A Talisman: A Lucky Charm, A Brand Of Paper, But Most Often A Writing Instrument. Am I Writing Well? Thank My Pen. Am I Writing Badly? Don't Blame Me Blame My Pen. By Such Displacements Does The Fearful Imagination Defend Itself.

When I Walk Into An Apartment With Books On The Shelves, Books On The Bedside Tables, Books On The Floor, And Books On The Toilet Tank, Then I Know What I Would See If I Opened The Door That Says Private - Grownups Keep Out: A Children Sprawled On The Bed, Reading.

In My View, Nineteen Pounds Of Old Books Are At Least Nineteen Times As Delicious As One Pound Of Fresh Caviar.