Each Book Was A World Unto Itself,

When Literature Is Discovered, A Revelation Occurs: The Joyful, Exultant Knowledge That Anything Can Happen.

At One Magical Instant In Your Early Childhood, The Page Of A Book—that String Of Confused, Alien Ciphers—shivered Into Meaning. Words Spoke To You, Gave Up Their Secrets; At That Moment, Whole Universes Opened. You Became, Irrevocably, A Reader.

I Know My Time Will Come Soon Enough, But I Will Not Dwell On It. What Is The Purpose? We Might As Well Dwell On The Work Of Our Teeth Or On The Mechanics Of Our Walk. It Is There, It Will Always Be There, And I Don't Intend To Spend My Glorious Hours Looking Over My Shoulder To See Death's Icy Face.

Slothful, Feeble, Pretentious, Pedantic, Elitist - These Are Some Of The Epithets That Eventually Become Associated With The Absent Minded Scholar, The Poor Sighted Reader, The Book Worm, The Nerd.

Our Books Will Bear Witness For Or Against Us, Our Books Reflect Who We Are And Who We Have Been, Our Books Hold The Share Of Pages Granted To Us From The Book Of Life. By The Books We Call Ours We Will Be Judged