O Day of days when we can read! The reader and the book, either without the other is naught.

'Tis the good reader that makes the good book; a good head cannot read amiss: in every book he finds passages which seem confidences or asides hidden from all else and unmistakeably meant for his ear.

What's a book? Everything or nothing. The eye that sees it all.

Oh, tenderly the haughty day Fills his blue urn with fire

They (the days) come and go like muffled and veiled figures sent from a distant friendly party; but they say nothing, and if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away

He was an avid reader, would read a book every two or three days. Then I started to notice the same book on the nightstand every night. Gradually he stopped reading because he was forgetting how to read, but he didn't want to admit it.