Next o'er his books his eyes begin to roll,
In pleasing memory of all he stole.
Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books consum'd the midnight oil?
An elegant sufficiency, content,
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Ease and alternate labour, useful life,
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven!
Books that you may carry to the fire and hold readily in your hand, are the most useful after all.
Are these the choice dishes the Doctor has sent us?
Is this the great poet whose works so content us?
This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books?
Heaven sends us good meat, but the Devil sends cooks?
I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine.
Here the heart
May give a useful lesson to the head,
And Learning wiser grow without his books.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much;
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
Books are not seldom talismans and spells.
Books cannot always please, however good;
Minds are not ever craving for their food.
Some books are lies frae end to end.
He [Kippis] might be a very clever man by nature for aught I know, but he laid so many books upon his head that his brains could not move.
Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you 'll grow double!
Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks!
Why all this toil and trouble?
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good.
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Books which are no books.
My only books
Were woman's looks,--
And folly's all they 've taught me.
Happy the people whose annals are blank in history-books.
In books lies the soul of the whole Past Time: the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream.
The true University of these days is a Collection of Books.
I should as soon think of swimming across Charles River when I wish to go to Boston, as of reading all my books in originals when I have them rendered for me in my mother tongue.
The author who speaks about his own books is almost as bad as a mother who talks about her own children.
Experience is the child of Thought, and Thought is the child of Action. We can not learn men from books.
Books are sepulchres of thought.
The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books.
And I have written three books on the soul,
Proving absurd all written hitherto,
And putting us to ignorance again.
Some books are drenchèd sands
On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,
Like a wrecked argosy.