In some respects the better a book is, the less it demands from the binding.
When twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love.
A Persian's heaven is eas'ly made: 'T is but black eyes and lemonade.
If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!
Books think for me. I can read anything which I call a book.
We love to chew the cud of a foregone vision; to collect the scattered rays of a brighter phantasm, or act over again, with firmer nerves, the sadder nocturnal tragedies.