Just because some of us can read and write and do a little math, that doesn’t mean we deserve to conquer the Universe.
If you read with your eyes shut you’re likely to find that the place where you’re going is far, far behind.
If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking.
How well he’s read, to reason against reading!
For readers, one of life’s most electrifying discoveries is that they are readers – not just capable of doing it, but in love with it. Hopelessly. Head over heels.
You read too much and understand too little.
You can read the whole future of mankind in the past.
Why can’t people just sit and read books and be nice to each other?
When one reads hurriedly and nervously, having in mind written tests and examinations, one’s brain becomes encumbered with a lot of choice bric-a-brac for which there seems to be little use.
When I am king, they shall not have bread and shelter only, but also teachings out of books; for a full belly is little worth where the mind is starved, and the heart.
What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.
What counts, in the long run, is not what you read; it is what you sift through your own mind; it is the ideas and impressions that are aroused in you by your reading.
