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

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.

March is outside the door Flaming some old desire As man turns uneasily from his fire.

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

But man must light for man The fires no other can, And find in his own eye Where the strange crossroads lie.

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