The Misfortunes Hardest To Bear Are These

There Is No Mistaking A Real Book When One Meets It. It Is Like Falling In Love, And Like That Colossal Adventure It Is An Experience Of Great Social Import. Even As The Tranced Swain, The Booklover Yearns To Tell Others Of His Bliss. He Writes Letters About It, Adds It To The Postscript Of All Manner Of Communications, Intrudes It Into Telephone Messages, And Insists On His Friends Writing Down The Title Of The Find. Like The Simple-hearted Betrothed, Once Certain Of His Conquest

I Wish There Could Be An International Peace Conference Of Booksellers, For (you Will Smile At This) My Own Conviction Is That The Future Happiness Of The World Depends In No Small Measure On Them And On The Librarians.

Standing By The Crib Of One's Own Baby, With That World - Old Pang Of Compassion And Protectiveness Toward This So Little Creature That Has All Its Course To Run, The Heart Flies Back In Yearning And Gratitude To Those Who Felt Just So Toward One's Self. Then For The First Time One Understands The Homely Succession Of Sacrifices And Pains By Which Life Is Transmitted And Fostered Down The Stumbling Generations Of Men.

Religion Is An Attempt, A Noble Attempt, To Suggest In Human Terms More-than-human Realities.

When Abraham Lincoln Was Murdered The One Thing That Interested Matthew Arnold Was That The Assassin Shouted In Latin As He Lept On The Stage This Convinced Matthew There Was Still Hope For America.