One Book Calls To Another

We Read To Understand, Or To Begin To Understand. We Cannot Do But To Read. Reading Almost As Much As Breathing, Is Our Essential Function.

Evil Requires No Reason.

In The Dark, With The Windows Lit And The Rows Of Books Glittering, The Library Is A Closed Space, A Universe Of Self-serving Rules That Pretend To Replace Or Translate Those Of The Shapeless Universe Beyond.

To Say That An Author Is A Reader Or A Reader An Author, To See A Book As A Human Being Or A Human Being A Book, To Describe The World As Text Or A Text As The World, Are Ways Of Naming The Readers Craft.

Every Reader Has Found Charms By Which To Secure Possession Of A Page That, By Magic, Becomes As If Never Read Before, Fresh And Immaculate.