I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book.
Women are Books, and Men the Readers be,
Who sometimes in those Books Erratas see;
Yet oft the Reader’s raptur’d with each Line,
Fair Print and Paper fraught with Sense divine;
Tho’ some neglectful seldom care to read,
And faithful Wives no more than Bibles heed.
Are Women Books? says Hodge, then would mine were
An Almanack, to change her every Year.
Books are the perfect entertainment: no commercials, no batteries, hours of enjoyment for each dollar spent. What I wonder is why everybody doesn’t carry a book around for those inevitable dead spots in life.
My whole work drive has been aimed at making people understand each other and then I deliberately write this book, the aim of which is to cause hatred through partial understanding. My father would have called it a smart-alec book. It was full of tricks to make people ridiculous. If I can’t do better I have slipped badly. And that I won’t admit — yet.
In books we never find anything but ourselves. Strangely enough, that always gives us great pleasure, and we say the author is a genius.