Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.

It might have been that notion, or just chance, or its more flamboyant relative, destiny.

Poetry is written with tears, fiction with blood, and history with invisible ink.

A good liar knows that the most efficient lie is always a truth that has had a key piece removed from it.

One is never wholly conscious of the greed hidden in one's heart until one hears the sweet sound of silver.

The words with which a child's heart is poisoned, whether through malice or through ignorance, remain branded in his memory, and sooner or later they burn his soul.

That's what happens when people reach old age; nobody remembers they've been bastards too.