It Is A Grave Error

It Is A Grave Error To Assume That Ice Cream Consumption Requires Hot Weather.

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.

My Daughter Is Seven, And Some Of The Other Second-grade Parents Complain That Their Children Don't Read For Pleasure. When I Visit Their Homes, The Children's Rooms Are Crammed With Expensive Books, But The Parent's Rooms Are Empty. Those Children Do Not See Their Parents Reading, As I Did Every Day Of My Childhood. By Contrast, 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 Child Sprawled On The Bed, Reading.

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

My Brother And I Were Able To Fantasize Far More Extravagantly About Our Parents' Tastes And Desires, Their Aspirations And Their Vices, By Scanning Their Bookcases Than By Snooping In Their Closest. Their Selves Were On Their Shelves.