Beware Of Your Habits. The

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."

Fear Of Corrupting The Mind Of The Younger Generation Is The Loftiest Form Of Cowardice.

Book-love, I Say Again, Lasts Throughout Life, It Never Flags Or Fails, But, Like Beauty Itself, Is A Joy Forever.

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.

There Are Only Two Classes In Society: Those Who Get More Than They Earn, And Those Who Earn More Than They Get.