Books, I think, are what magic smells like.

Everyone and Everything is conspiring to end up in a book.

Books are to the mind as the whetstone for the knives.

Reality doesn’t always give us the life that we desire, but we can always find what we desire between the pages of books.

I like best to have one book in my hand, and a stack of others on the floor beside me, so as to know the supply of poppy and mandragora will not run out before the small hours.

Once you read a classic, you will start loving even the smell of the books.