The End Of Reading Is Not More

Originality Is Only Variation.

A Large, Still Book Is A Piece Of Quietness, Succulent And Nourishing In A Noisy World, Which I Approach And Imbibe With "a Sort Of Greedy Enjoyment," As Marcel Proust Said Of Those Rooms Of His Old Home Whose Air Was "saturated With The Bouquet Of Silence."

Man Is A Dog's Idea Of What God Should Be.

Only One-fourth Of The Sorrow In Each Man's Life Is Caused By Outside Uncontrollable Elements, The Rest Is Self-imposed By Failing To Analyze And Act With Calmness.

History Proves There Is No Better Advertisement For A Book Than To Condemn It For Obscenity.