The Book (n.) is the paper memory of mankind.
The Book (n.) in its bad kind is a rank weed of literature that feeds on the corn and chokes it.
A Book (n.) taken up to scare off one's own original thoughts is a sin against the Holy Spirit — like fleeing Nature for a museum of dried plants.
Book (n.) would be worth buying if one could buy the time to read them too; we confuse buying a book with acquiring its contents.
A Book (n.) is the safest refuge for a man who does not want to think: pick one up the moment you have a spare minute.
The Book (n.) is an entire world held in the palm of your hand, a world that is unique to you as no two readers can ever inhabit the same world.
The Book (n.) when bad is intellectual poison: one can never read too little of bad books or too much of good ones.
A Book (n.) can be used in several ways without being read: it fills a gap on the shelf, looks well on a lady's tea-table, or — best of all — can be reviewed.
A Book (n.) must have a first and a last line, which makes it a bad vessel for a single thought that has neither; so read it twice, and believe the beginning presupposes the end.