Vivere in una libreria è come vivere in un deposito di esplosivi. Su quegli scaffali sono allineati i più tremendi combustibili del mondo: i cervelli… - Christopher Morley

"He pushed through the bushes. In a little hollow were three small puppies, whining faintly. They were cold and draggled with mud. Someone had left them there, evidently, to perish. They were huddled close together; their eyes, a cloudy unspeculative blue, were only just opened. "This is gruesome," said Gissing, pretending to be shocked."

They go in not because they need any certain volume but because they feel that there may be some book that needs them.

Very often human beings don't become available for the purposes of art until they have shaken off some of their dogged, self-preserving sanity.