There Is A Line Of Poetry, A

I Know My Time Will Come Soon Enough, But I Will Not Dwell On It. What Is The Purpose? We Might As Well Dwell On The Work Of Our Teeth Or On The Mechanics Of Our Walk. It Is There, It Will Always Be There, And I Don't Intend To Spend My Glorious Hours Looking Over My Shoulder To See Death's Icy Face.

In Any Of My Pages In Any Of My Books May Life A Perfect Account Of My Secret Experience Of The World.

Existing Libraries, In Their Very Being, Seem To Question The Authority Of Those In Power.

I Know That Something Dies When I Give Up My Books, And That My Memory Keeps Going Back To Them With Mournful Nostalgia.

I Wanted To Live Among Books.