It Was A Book To

Only One Hour In The Normal Day Is More Pleasurable Than The Hour Spent In Bed With A Book Before Going To Sleep, And That Is The Hour Spent In Bed With A Book After Being Called In The Morning.

Life, For All Its Agonies...is Exciting And Beautiful, Amusing And Artful And Endearing...and Whatever Is To Come After It -- We Shall Not Have This Life Again.

Words Move, Turning Over Like Tumbling Clowns; Like Certain Books And Like Fleas, They Possess Activity. All Men Equally Have The Right To Say, 'this Word Shall Bear This Meaning,' And See If They Can Get It Across. It Is A Sporting Game, Which All Can Play, Only All Cannot Win.

Nothing, Perhaps, Is Strange, Once You Have Accepted Life Itself, The Great Strange Business Which Includes All Lesser Strangeness.

Behavior Of Such Cunning Cruelty That Only A Human Being Could Have Thought Of Or Contrived It We Call 'inhuman,' Revealing Thus Some Pathetic Ideal Standard For Our Species That Survives All Betrayals.