Any Man Worth His Salt Has By

There Is No Mistaking A Real Book When One Meets It. It Is Like Falling In Love, And Like That Colossal Adventure It Is An Experience Of Great Social Import. Even As The Tranced Swain, The Booklover Yearns To Tell Others Of His Bliss. He Writes Letters About It, Adds It To The Postscript Of All Manner Of Communications, Intrudes It Into Telephone Messages, And Insists On His Friends Writing Down The Title Of The Find. Like The Simple-hearted Betrothed, Once Certain Of His Conquest

They Go In [to The Library] Not Because They Need Any Certain Volume But Because They Feel That There May Be Some Book That Needs Them.

I Had A Million Questions To Ask God: But When I Met Him, They All Fled My Mind; And It Didn't Seem To Matter.

Any Man Worth His Salt Has By The Time He Is Forty-five Accumulated A Crown Of Thorns, And The Problem Is To Learn To Wear It Over One Ear.

Printer's Ink Has Been Running A Race Against Gunpowder These Many, Many Years. Ink Is Handicapped, In A Way, Because You Can Blow Up A Man With Gunpowder In Half A Second, While It May Take Twenty Years To Blow Him Up With A Book. But The Gunpowder Destroys Itself Along With Its Victim, While A Book Can Keep On Exploding For Centuries.