Life is a garment we continuously alter, but which never seems to fit.

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

The high-ceilinged rooms, the little balconies, alcoves, nooks and angles all suggest sanctuary, escape, creature comfort. The reader, the scholar, the browser, the borrower is king.

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

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

Books fall open, you fall in.

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