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Some books are drenched sands, On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps, Like a wrecked argosy.

Silent companions of the lonely hour, Friends, who can alter or forsake. Who for inconstant roving have no power, And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take.

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good; Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

The big advantage of a book is it's very easy to rewind. Close it and you're right back at the beginning.

If I'm honest I have to tell you I still read fairy—tales and I like them best of all.

There was this billy goat at a movie studio who found and ate a can of film. When a nanny asked him how he liked it, he said, It was all right but I liked the book better.

I had rather be shut up in a very modest cottage with my books, my family and a few old friends, dining on simple bacon, and letting the world roll on as it liked, than to occupy the most splendid post, which any human power can give.

Beware the man of one book.

If this nation is to be wise as well as strong, if we are to achieve our destiny, then we need more new ideas for more wise men reading more good books in more public libraries. These libraries should be open to all -- except the censor. We must know all.

. . . there are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best parts.

No one who can read, ever looks at a book, even unopened on a shelf, like one who cannot.