Many famous works of literature would have remained obscure if they had been read only as the author intended.
The dead alive and busy.
For diminishing returns read philosophy; for network effects read history.
Reading is like sauce-making: one does not remember the books so much as become infused with them.
We seem almost naturally to revere books, for which reading them is the only cure.
If it can be translated, it’s not literature.
To read well is to let the book read you.
He who can, writes books; he who cannot, writes books for children.
I ask one thing of literature: that it draw blood.
The punster, the grammarian, the nitpicking fact-checker all display contempt for what is being said. They counterfeit attention.
The to-read list is a stack, not a queue.