Every Time You Enter A Library You

If You Are Trying To Fool A Farsighted Or Dimwitted Person, A Veiled Facial Disguise Might Be Enough.

The Burning Of A Book Is A Sad, Sad Sight, For Even Though A Book Is Nothing But Ink And Paper, It Feels As If The Ideas Contained In The Book Are Disappearing As The Pages Turn To Ashes And The Cover And Binding--which Is The Term For The Stitching And Glue That Holds The Pages Together--blacken And Curl As The Flames Do Their Wicked Work. When Someone Is Burning A Book, They Are Showing Utter Contempt For All Of The Thinking That Produced Its Ideas, All Of The Labor That Went Into Its Words And Sentences, And All Of The Trouble That Befell The Author . . .

It Is Very Difficult To Make One's Way In This World Without Being Wicked At One Time Or Another, When The World's Way Is So Wicked To Being With.

The Mind Has A Thousand Eyes, And The Heart Has One:yet The Light Of A Whole Life Dies When Love Is Done.

The Library Was One Enormous Room, With Long, High Metal Shelves And The Perfect Quiet That Libraries Provide For Anyone Looking For An Answer.