When you sell a man a book, you don't sell him 12 ounces of paper and ink and glue - you sell him a whole new life.

High heels were invented by a woman who had been kissed on the forehead.

New York, the nation's thyroid gland.

Beware of the conversationalist who adds "in other words." He is merely starting afresh.

Everybody thinks of others as being excessively human, with all the frailties and crotchets appertaining to that curious condition. But each of us also seems to regard himself as existing on a detached plane of observation, exempt (save in moments of avid crisis) from the strange whims of humanity en masse.

In every man's heart there is a secret nerve that answers to the vibrations of beauty.

There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it. It is like falling in love.