Books, books, books! I had found the secret of a garret room Piled high with cases in my fatherโs name; Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past, Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there At this or that box, pulling through the gap, In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, The first book first. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow, in the morningโs dark, An hour before the sun would let me read! My books!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningThere Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world; oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningHow many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningNo man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning