It is so easy to let life go by us in its swift amusing course, that sometimes it hardly seems worthwhile to attempt any bold strokes for truth. Trut… - Christopher Morley

"and had marvelled at the blue that lies upon the skyline. Here, about him, were the clear familiar colours of the world he knew; but yonder, on the hills, were trees and spaces of another more heavenly tint. That soft blue light, if he could reach it, must be the beginning of what his mind required. He envied Mr. Poodle, whose cottage was on that very hillslope that rose so imperceptibly into sky. One morning he ran and ran, in the lifting day, but always the blue receded. Hot and unbuttoned, he came by the curate's house, just as the latter emerged to pick up the morning paper. "Where does the blue begin?" Gissing panted, trying hard to keep his tongue from sliding out so wetly."

When you sell a man a book you don’t sell him just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue — you sell him a whole new life. Love and friendship and humour and ships at sea by night — there’s all heaven and earth in a book, a real book I mean.

Sa lei perché la gente ora legge più libri di quanto non abbia mai fatto? Perché la terrificante catastrofe della guerra le ha fatto comprendere di aver la mente ammalata. Il mondo soffriva di ogni sorta di febbri celebrali, e dolori, e disordini, e non lo sapeva. Ora le nostre angosce mentali sono anche troppo manifeste. Leggiamo tutti avidamente, in fretta, cercando di scoprire, passato il disturbo, che cosa c'era che non andava nella nostra mente.