I was raised among books, making invisible friends in pages that seemed cast from dust and whose smell I carry on my hands to this day.

... And what am I to do?'Well, that depends. Do you like the girl?'Like her? I don't know. How do you know if...?'It's very simple. Do you look at her furtively and feel like biting her?'Biting her?'On her backside, for example.

I can't die yet, doctor. Not yet. I have things to do. Afterwords I'll have a whole lifetime in which to die.

Some like to believe it's the book that chooses the person.

Future could be read much more clearly in the streets, factories, and barracks than in the morning press.

He was rather clumsy and shy and looked as if he'd spent the last ten years of his life locked up in a library - hardly the kind of man any girl your age dreams of ...