When I Walk Into An Apartment With

My Brother And I Were Able To Fantasize Far More Extravagantly About Our Parents' Tastes And Desires, Their Aspirations And Their Vices, By Scanning Their Bookcases Than By Snooping In Their Closest. Their Selves Were On Their Shelves.

...the Reader Who Plucks A Book From Her Shelf Only Once Is As Deprived As The Listener Who, After Attending A Single Performance Of A Beethoven Symphony, Never Hears It Again.

My Daughter Is Seven, And Some Of The Other Second-grade Parents Complain That Their Children Don't Read For Pleasure. When I Visit Their Homes, The Children's Rooms Are Crammed With Expensive Books, But The Parent's Rooms Are Empty. Those Children Do Not See Their Parents Reading, As I Did Every Day Of My Childhood. By Contrast, When I Walk Into An Apartment With Books On The Shelves, Books On The Bedside Tables, Books On The Floor, And Books On The Toilet Tank, Then I Know What I Would See If I Opened The Door That Says 'private--grownups Keep Out': A Child Sprawled On The Bed, Reading.

When I Walk Into An Apartment With Books On The Shelves, Books On The Bedside Tables, Books On The Floor, And Books On The Toilet Tank, Then I Know What I Would See If I Opened The Door That Says Private - Grownups Keep Out: A Children Sprawled On The Bed, Reading.

You Can Miss A Lot By Sticking To The Point.