Maybe The Books Can Get Us Half

Life Shoould Be Touched, Not Strangled. You've Got To Relax, Let It Happen At Times, And At Other Move Forward With It.

Books Are Flesh-and-blood Ideas And Cry Out, Silently, When Put To The Torch.

And Some Days, He Went On, Were Days Of Hearing Every Trump And Trill Of The Universe. Some Days Were Good For Tasting And Some For Touching. And Some Days Were Good For All The Senses At Once. This Day Now, He Nodded, Smelled As If A Great And Nameless Orchard Had Grown Up Overnight Beyond The Hills To Fill The Entire Visible Land With Its Warm Freshness. The Air Felt Like Rain, But There Were No Clouds.

It Could Reach Up And Grab The Moon.

Suddenly The Day Was Gone, Night Came Out From Under Each Tree And Spread.