She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live. She read books as one would breathe ether, to sink in and die. - Annie Dillard

She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live.

She reads books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live.

She reads books as one would breathe air to fill up and live.

She reads books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live

Writing every book, the writer must solve two problems: Can it be done? and, Can I do it? Every book has an intrinsic impossibility, which its writer discovers as soon as his first excitement dwindles.

It is difficult to undo our own damage, and to recall to our presence that which we have asked to leave.

It has always been a happy thought to me that the creek runs on all night, new every minute, whether I wish it or know it or care, as a closed book on a shelf continues to whisper to itself its own inexhaustible tale. So many things have been shown so to me on these banks, so much light has illumined me by reflection here where the water comes down, that I can hardly believe that this grace never flags, that the pouring from ever-renewable sources is endless, impartial, and free.