One Reads Alone, Even In Another's Presence.

So Began Their Love, The Boy Happy And Amazed, She Happy And Not Surprised At All (nothing Happens By Chance To Girls). It Was The Love So Long Awaited By Cosimo And Which Had Now Inexplicably Arrived, And So Lovely That He Could Not Imagine How He Had Even Thought It Lovely Before. And The Thing Newest To Him Was That It Was So Simple, And The Boy At That Moment Thought It Must Be Like That Always.

If You Want To Know How Much Darkness There Is Around You, You Must Sharpen Your Eyes, Peering At The Faint Lights In The Distance.

A Classic Is A Book Which With Each Rereading Offers As Much Of A Sense Of Discovery As The First Reading.

There Is Nothing For It But For All Of Us To Invent Our Own Ideal Libraries Of Classics. I Would Say That Such A Library Ought To Be Composed Half Of Books We Have Read And That Have Really Counted For Us, And Half Of Books We Propose To Read And Presume Will Come To Count—leaving A Section Of Empty Shelves For Surprises And Occasional Discoveries

Perhaps Everything Lies In Knowing What Words To Speak, What Actions To Perform, And In What Order And Rhythm; Or Else Someone's Gaze, Answer, Gesture Is Enough; It Is Enough For Someone To Do Something For The Sheer Pleasure Of Doing It, And For His Pleasure To Become The Pleasure Of Others: At That Moment, All Spaces Change, All Heights, Distances; The City Is Transfigured, Becomes Crystalline, Transparent As A Dragonfly.