I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual

Often on a wet day I begin counting up; what I've read; what I haven't read.

Above all you must illumine your own soul with its profundities and its shallows, and its vanities and its generosities, and say what your beauty means to you or your plainness, and what is your relation to the ever-changing and turning world.

History is too much about wars; biography too much about great men.

It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning.

Come indoors then, and open the books on your library shelves. For you have a library and a good one. A working library, a living library; a library where nothing is chained down and nothing is locked up; a library where the songs of the singers rise naturally from the lives of the livers.

For nothing was simply one thing.