Tacitus did not write a most dangerous book. His readers made it so.

Those who spend the greater part of their time in reading or writing books are, of course, apt to take rather particular notice of accumulations of books when they come across them. They will not pass a stall, a shop, or even a bedroom-shelf without reading some title, and if they find themselves in an unfamiliar library, no host need trouble himself further about their entertainment.

Books gnaw at me from around the edges of my life, demanding more time and attention. I am always left hungry.

I want you to tell all these people that I wanted more time to spend with them. Tell them I meant to, tell them I wanted to hear what they said and tell them what was on my mind.

I can’t write without a reader. It’s precisely like a kiss—you can’t do it alone.

Readers have to be sought out and won to the light of the page, poem by poem, one by one by one.