Not so, however, with books, for books cannot change. A thousand years hence they are what you find them to-day, speaking the same words, holding forth the same cheer, the same promise, the same comfort; always constant, laughing with those who laugh and weeping with those who weep.

A mighty good sausage stuffer was spoiled when the man became a poet.

All human joys are swift of wing, For heaven doth so allot it; That when you get an easy thing, You find you haven't got it

The biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away.

But he who truly loves books loves all books alike, and not only this, but it grieves him that all other men do not share with him this noble passion. Verily, this is the most unselfish of loves!

Here we have a baby. It is composed of a bald head and a pair of lungs.

Let my temptation be a book.