... Once I Start A Book I

The Nearest My Parents Came To Alcohol Was At Holy Communion And They Utterly Overestimated Its Effects. However Bad The Weather, Dad Never Drove To Church Because Mam Thought The Sacrament Might Make Him Incapable On The Return Journey.

One Recipe For Happiness Is To Have To Sense Of Entitlement.' To This She Added A Star And Noted At The Bottom Of The Page: 'this Is Not A Lesson I Have Ever Been In A Position To Learn.

Books Are Not About Passing The Time. They're About Other Lives. Other Worlds.

One Reads For Pleasure...it Is Not A Public Duty.

I Tried To Explain To Her The Significance Of The Great Poet, But Without Much Success, The Waste Land Not Figuring Very Largely In Mam's Scheme Of Things. "the Thing Is," I Said Finally, "he Won The Nobel Prize." "well," She Said, With That Unerring Grasp Of Inessentials Which Is The Prerogative Of Mothers, "i'm Not Surprised. It Was A Beautiful Overcoat."