A book was mere paper splattered with ink until a reader’s mind gave it life.

We lose ourselves in what we read, only to return to ourselves, transformed and part of a more expansive world.

Once you read a classic, you will start loving even the smell of the books.

What better occupation, really, than to spend the evening at the fireside with a book, with the wind beating on the windows and the lamp burning bright...Haven't you ever happened to come across in a book some vague notion that you've had, some obscure idea that returns from afar and that seems to express completely your most subtle feelings?

The most comfortable place for a tired mind is in the lap of a book.

'The Sun Also Rises' by Ernest Hemingway is my favorite book. You feel manly reading it.