Reading is the most rewarding form of exile and the most necessary discipline for novelists who burn with the ambition to get better.
Even today, I hunt for the fabulous books that will change me utterly. I find myself happiest in the middle of a book which I forget that I am reading, but am instead immersed in a made-up life lived at the highest pitch.
Writing poetry and reading books causes brain damage.
My business is not reading your messages. I don’t have a business doing that. And it’s against my values to do that. I don’t want to read your private stuff.
There are different rules for reading, for thinking, and for talking. Writing blends all three of them.
Rereading, we find a new book.
If I had found the words I was looking for, I would not have read so much.
I read here and there in books, enjoying the examples and ignoring the argument.
Readers transform a library from a mausoleum into many theaters.
Reading about ethics is about as likely to improve one’s behavior as reading about sports is to make one into an athlete.
What I eat turns into my body. What I read turns into my mind.
Avid readers are enchanted by meaning, which is available chiefly in books.
If you do not throw in a few promises of better things to come, gloomy one, I am going to take you back to the library.
The privacy of reading frees us to entertain the alien.
Reading a great book causes jolts and frights.
Reading civilized the inner life.
Reading more than life teaches us to recognize ethos and pathos.
I alternate between reading cook books and reading diet books.
Promiscuity is like never reading past the first page. Monogamy is like reading the same book over and over.
While we are reading, we are all Don Quixote.