Books which are no books.
A book is a friend whose face is constantly changing. If you read it when you are recovering from an illness, and return to it years after, it is changed surely, with the change in yourself.
A wise man will select his books, for he would
not wish to class them all under the sacred
name of friends. Some can be accepted only as
acquaintances. The best books of all kinds are
taken to the heart, and cherished as his most
precious possessions. Others to be chatted with
for a time, to spend a few pleasant hours with,
and laid aside, but not forgotten.
Langford—The Praise of Books. Preliminary
The love of books is a love which requires
neither justification, apology, nor defence.
Langfohd—The Praise of Books. Preliminary
The pleasant books, that silently among
Our household treasures take familiar places,
And are to us as if a living tongue
Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces!
Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages
Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages,
And giving tongues unto the silent dead!
| author = Longfellow
| work = Sonnet on Mrs. Kemble's Heading from Shakespeare.
| place =
| note =
| topic = Books
| page = 79
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Books are sepulchres of thought.
| author = Longfellow
| work = Wind Over the Chimney. St. 8.
| place =
| note =
| topic = Books
| page = 79
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>All books are either dreams or swords,
You can cut, or you can drug, with words.
My swords are tempered for every speech,
For fencing wit, or to carve a breach
Through old abuses the world condones.
Amy Lowell—Sword Blades and Poppy Seed.
If I were asked what book is better than a cheap book, I would answer that there is one book better than a cheap book, and that is a book honestly come by.
What a sense of security in an old book which
Time has criticised for us!
| author = Lowell
| work = My Study Windows. Library of Old
Authors.
| place =
| note =
| topic = Books
| page = 79
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Gentlemen use books as Gentlewomen handle
their flowers, who in the morning stick them in
their heads, and at night strawe them at their
Ltlt—Euphues. To the Gentlemen Readers.
That wonderful book, while it obtains admiration from the most fastidious critics, is loved
by those who are too simple to admire it.
Macaulay—On Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress.
(1831)
| topic = Books
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = As you grow ready for it, somewhere or other you will find what is needful for you in a book.
| author = George MacDonald
| work = The Marquis of Lassie.
| place = Ch. XLII.
| note =
| topic = Books
| page = 79
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>You importune me, Tucca, to present you
with my books. I shall not do so; for you want
to sell, not to read, them.
A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit imbalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.
As good almost kill a man as kill a good book;
who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's
image; but he who destroys a good book kills
reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were,
in the eye.
| author = Milton
| work = Areopagitica.
| place =
| note =
| topic = Books
| page = 79
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Books are not absolutely dead things, but do
contain a progeny of life in them to be as active
as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay,
they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy
and extraction of that living intellect that bred
them.
| author = Milton
| work = Areopagitica.
| place =
| note =
| topic = Books
| page = 79
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.
| author = Milton
| work = Paradise Regained.
| place = Bk. IV. L. 327.
| note =
| topic = Books
| page = 79
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Un livre est un ami qui ne trompe jamais.
A book is a friend that never deceives.
Ascribed to Gutlbert De Pixer1j:court.
Claimed for Desbarreaux Bernard.
Within that awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries!
Distrahit animum librorum multitudo.
A multitude of books distracts the mind.
Seneca—Epistolce Ad LuciMum. II. 3.
That roars so loud and thunders in the index.
Keep * * * thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.
We turn'd o'er many books together.
I had rather than forty shillings, I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here.
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story.
