No blame should attach to telling the truth. But it does, it does.

Great writers are the saints for the godless.

I suppose what one wants really is ideal company and books are ideal company.

Problems of human behavior still continue to baffle us, but at least in the Library we have them properly filed.

Fiction is the great repository of the moral sense. The wicked get punished.

One loses the capacity to grieve as a child grieves, or to rage as a child rages: hotly, despairingly, with tears of passion. One grows up, one becomes civilized, one learns one's manners, and consequently can no longer manage these two functions - sorrow and anger - adequately.

And without understanding, could each properly love the other?