If The Soul Cannot Find

I Have Never Been Able To Resist A Book About Books.

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.

It Is A Truism Of Epistolary Psychology That, For Example, A Christmas Thank-you Note Written On December 26 Can Say Any Old Thing, But If You Wait Until February, You Are Convinced That Nothing Less Than Middlemarch Will Do.

Some Friends Of Theirs Had Rented Their House For Several Months To An Interior Decorator. When They Returned, They Discovered That Their Entire Library Had Been Reorganized By Color And Size. Shortly Thereafter, The Decorator Met With A Fatal Automobile Accident. I Confess That When This Story Was Told, Everyone Around The Dinner Table Concurred That Justice Had Been Served.

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.