The buying of more books than one can read is nothing less than the soul reaching toward infinity...
Who was it who said, “I hold the buying of more books than one can peradventure read, as nothing less than the soul’s reaching towards infinity; which is the only thing that raises us above the beasts that perish?” Whoever it was, I agree with him.
If this world affords true happiness, it is to be found in a home where love and confidence increase with the years, where the necessities of life come without severe strain, where luxuries enter only after their cost has been carefully considered.
As life tends to become more and more distracting, let us firmly hold on to books.
The selection of a book-plate is such a serious matter.
Gilbert White discovered the formula for complete happiness, but he died before making the announcement, leaving it for me to do so. It is to be very busy with the unimportant.
I hold that book-collecting is the best of indoor sports, and I think I can provide proof; at any rate, I shall try.
In an established love of reading there is a policy of insurance guaranteeing certain happiness till death.
There are few finer or more innocent pleasures than talking books to one who knows. There may be joy in heaven- I am told there is- but the evidence is not conclusive, and I’ll take mine here in my library.
Any book is my kind of book that I can read with delight.
My advice to any one who may be temped by some volume with an inscription of the author on its fly-leaf or title-page is, ‘Yield with coy submission’ – and at once. While such books make frightful inroads on one’s bank account, I have regretted only my economies, never my extravagances.