Genius Is Intuition On Fire.

A Large, Still Book Is A Piece Of Quietness, Succulent And Nourishing In A Noisy World, Which I Approach And Imbibe With "a Sort Of Greedy Enjoyment," As Marcel Proust Said Of Those Rooms Of His Old Home Whose Air Was "saturated With The Bouquet Of Silence."

The Time To Read Is Any Time: No Apparatus, No Appointment Of Time And Place, Is Necessary.

Fear Of Corrupting The Mind Of The Younger Generation Is The Loftiest Form Of Cowardice.

Past And Present, It Is All The Same, Books Are Necromancers, They Exercise An Influence More Varied, More Lasting, Than Any Magic Known To Man.

Only One-fourth Of The Sorrow In Each Man's Life Is Caused By Outside Uncontrollable Elements, The Rest Is Self-imposed By Failing To Analyze And Act With Calmness.