He read at wine, he read in bed, He read aloud, had he the breath, His every thought was with the dead, And so he read himself to death.

It was no affair for the watch: Satan was at large tonight and Satan seemed to be he who appeared dimly in front, heel over gate, knee over fence. Moreover, th…

The years between thirty-five and sixty-five revolve before the passive mind as one unexplained, confusing merry-go-round. True, they are a merry-go-round of i…

You're simply stubborn. You think you don't want to be like any one else. You always have been that way, and you always will be. But just think how it would be…

I cannot live without books.

If they had said that the sun or the moon had gone out of the heavens, it could not have struck me with the idea of a more awful and dreary blank in creation t…

Does there, I wonder, exist a being who has read all, or approximately all, that the person of average culture is supposed to have read, and that not to have r…