Danny James

I can salvage the idle hours, but O if I waver or am infirm get me at once to my books; my dividing strength, my secret door to that garden of alchemy where lavishing over Her voluble blooms, rather the reader grows. Nutritive to my temper and interests must there be a story on my person or at my bedside at any moment. It is the lamp that dims unnecessaries, a fire by which the intellect is warmed. Where in one simple afternoon I can delight freely in the childlike fervency of my Nature by the prospects of a first page, then settle into a tired wisdom, at the last.