If You Truly Love A Book, You

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

If My Father Were Still Writing Essays, Every Full-grown 'girl' Would Probably Be Transformed Into A'woman'.

A Philosophy Professor At My College, Whose Baby Became Enamored Of The Portrait Of David Hume On A Penguin Paperback, Had The Cover Laminated In Plastic So Her Daughter Could Cut Her Teeth On The Great Thinker.

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.