books, the devourer of other men's productions, the man who loves books because they are books and not for the matter they contain. Such men set books between themselves and Nature, make a barrier of them, as it were, preventing their gazing out into the world and seeing the beauties and wonders thereof. From this same source come the men who delight to twist and turn the writings of famous authors, the men who come forward with new readings and interpretations, the men who can tell you the life and history of books, the date of their first issue, the names of the publishers, the styles of binding, etc., but who never have an original thought to utter. It were better books had not come down to us than to exist merely to fetter our minds and dwarf our souls by destroying our individuality.
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