Only The Sinner Has The Right To

A Critic Is A Gong At A Railroad Crossing Clanging Loudly And Vainly As The Train Goes By.

Truth And Beauty (perhaps Keats Was Wrong In Identifying Them: Perhaps They Have The Relation Of Wit And Humour, Or Rain And Rainbow) Are Of Interest Only To Hungry People. There Are Several Kinds Of Hunger. If Socrates, Spinoza, And Santayana Had Had Free Access To A Midnight Icebox We Would Never Have Heard Of Them. Shall I Be Ashamed Of My Little Mewing Truths?... I Ask To Be Forgiven: They Are Such Tiny Ones.

The Everlasting Lure Of Round-the-corner, How Fascinating It Is.

The Misfortunes Hardest To Bear Are These Which Never Came.

When You Sell A Man A Book You Don't Sell Just Twelve Ounces Of Paper And Ink And Glue - You Sell Him A Whole New Life. Love And Friendship And Humour And Ships At Sea By Night - There's All Heaven And Earth In A Book, A Real Book.