Read – And Be Curious. And If

I'm Perfectly Happy To Know The World At Secondhand. It's A Lot Safer.

The World Was A Terrible Place, Cruel, Pitiless, Dark As A Bad Dream. Not A Good Place To Live. Only In Books Could You Find Pity, Comfort, Happiness - And Love. Books Loved Anyone Who Opened Them, They Gave You Security And Friendship And Didn't Ask Anything In Return; They Never Went Away, Never, Not Even When You Treated Them Badly.

I Live In Hamburg; That's In The North. And I Live On The Outskirts Of Town. It Looks Like Countryside.

Mo Could Paint Pictures In The Empty Air With His Voice Alone.

Weren’t All Books Ultimately Related? After All, The Same Letters Filled Them, Just Arranged In A Different Order. Which Meant That, In A Certain Way, Every Book Was Contained In Every Other!