Truth is a hard dear to hunt. If you eat too much truth at once, you may die of the truth. - Stephen Vincent Benét

For ever... well... it droops the mouth. Till I Look up. There's one blue patch no smoke dares touch. Sky, clear, ineffable, alive with light, Always the same... Before, I never knew Rest and green peace.

"I figured I could easily live a year on the twelve hundred, and, at first, I thought of France. But there'd be the nuisance of learning frog-talk and the passage there and back. Besides, I wanted to be near a big library. My novel was going to be about the American Revolution, if you can picture it. I'd read "Henry Esmond" over and over and I wanted to write a book like that."

Books are not men and yet they are alive, they are man's memory and his aspiration, the link between his present and his past, the tools he builds with.