Life is a garment we continuously alter, but which never seems to fit.

Books fall open, you fall in, delighted where you've never been; hear voices not once heard before, reach world on world through door on door; find unexpected keys to things locked up beyond imaginings. What might you be, perhaps become, because one book is somewhere? Some wise delver into wisdom, wit, and wherewithal has written it. True books will venture, dare you out, whisper secrets, maybe shout across the gloom to you in need, who hanker for a book to read.

Life is a garment we continuously alter, but which never seems to fit.

The decent docent doesn't doze; He teaches standing on his toes. His students dassn't doze and does, And that's what teaching is and was.

Books fall open, you fall in, delighted where you've never been.

A pedestrian is a man in danger of his life. A walker is a man in possession of his soul.

A handful of sand is an anthology of the universe.