In the case of good books, the point is not to see how many of them you can get through, but rather how many can get through to you.
Mortimer J. AdlerThis will never be a civilized country until we expend more money for books than we do for chewing gum.
Elbert HubbardTag: reading books illiteracy american-politics
I am eternally grateful for my knack of finding in great books, some of them very funny books, reason enough to feel honored to be alive, no matter what else might be going on.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.If we encounter a man of rare intellect, we should ask him what books he reads.
Ralph Waldo EmersonTag: wisdom intelligence books
Woe be to him that reads but one book.
George HerbertI ate them like salad, books were my sandwich for lunch, my tiffin and dinner and midnight munch. I tore out the pages, ate them with salt, doused them with relish, gnawed on the bindings, turned the chapters with my tongue! Books by the dozen, the score and the billion. I carried so many home I was hunchbacked for years. Philosophy, art history, politics, social science, the poem, the essay, the grandiose play, you name 'em, I ate 'em.
Ray BradburyTag: words reading books literature
No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningTag: friendship friends reading books god religion companionship
We read in slow, long motions, as if drifting in space, weightless. We read full of prejudice, malignantly. We read generously, making excuses for the text, filling gaps, mending faults. And sometimes, when the stars are kind, we read with an intake of breath, with a shudder... as if a memory had suddenly been rescued from a place deep within us--the recognition of something we never knew was there...
Alberto ManguelTag: words reading books literature
And what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversation?
Lewis CarrollTag: books
Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret room
Piled high with cases in my father’s name;
Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and out
Among the giant fossils of my past,
Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs
Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
At this or that box, pulling through the gap,
In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,
The first book first. And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning’s dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books!
Tag: reading books poetry literature
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