Reading In Bed Is A Self-centered Act,

Our Books Will Bear Witness For Or Against Us, Our Books Reflect Who We Are And Who We Have Been, Our Books Hold The Share Of Pages Granted To Us From The Book Of Life. By The Books We Call Ours We Will Be Judged

The World Encyclopedia, The Universal Library, Exists, And It Is The World Itself.

We Seem To Live A Culture That Doesn't Want Blemishes. The Vision Of Most Beautiful Models... Airbrushed In Order To Be Seen As Perfect, Infects Our Notion Of How Literature Should Be Written.

And Sometimes, When The Stars Are Kind, We Read With An Intake Of Breath, With A Shudder, As If Someone Or Something Had 'walked Over Our Grave,' As If A Memory Had Suddenly Been Rescued From A Place Deep Within Us - The Recognition Of Something We Never Knew Was There, Or Of Something We Vaguely Felt As A Flicker Or A Shadow, Whose Ghostly Form Rises And Passes Back Into Us Before We Can See What It Is, Leaving Us Older And Wiser.

At Night, Here In The Library, The Ghosts Have Voices.