The Starting Point Is A Question.

At Night, Here In The Library, The Ghosts Have Voices.

The Love Of Libraries, Like Most Loves, Must Be Learned.

If The Library In The Morning Suggests An Echo Of The Severe And Reasonable Wishful Order Of The World, The Library At Night Seems To Rejoice In The World's Essential, Joyful Muddle.

Every Text Assumes A Reader.

From Fire, Water, The Passage Of Time, Neglectful Readers, And The Hand Of The Censor, Each Of My Books Has Escaped To Tell Me Its Story.