Take me to some lofty room,
Lighted from the western sky,
Where no glare dispels the gloom,
Till the golden eve is nigh;
Where the works of searching thought,
Chosen books, may still impart
What the wise of old have taught,
What has tried the meek of heart;
Books in long dead tongues that stirred
Loving hearts in other climes;
Telling to my eyes, unheard,
Glorious deeds of olden times:
Books that purify the thought,
Spirits of the learned dead,
Teachers of the little taught,
Comforters when friends are fled.
Barnes, Poems of Rural Life.
A library is like a butcher's shop; it contains plenty of meat, but it is all raw; no person living can find a meal in it till some good cook comes along and says, 'Sir, I see by your looks that you are hungry; I know your taste; be patient for a moment and you shall be satisfied that you have an excellent appetite!'—G. Ellis, Lockhart's 'Scott.'
A library is itself a cheap university.—H. Sidgwick, Political Economy.
O such a life as he resolved to live
Once he had mastered all that books can give!
Browning.
I will bury myself in my books and the devil may pipe to his own.—Tennyson.
Words! words! words!—Shakespeare.