A large, still book is a piece of quietness, succulent and nourishing in a noisy world, which I approach and imbibe with a sort of greedy enjoyment, as Marcel Proust said of those rooms of his old home whose air was saturated with the bouquet of silence.
The time to read is any time: no apparatus, no appointment of time and place, is necessary. It is the only art which can be practised at any hour of the day or night, whenever the time and inclination comes, that is your time for reading; in joy or sorrow, health or illness.
No man is ever old enough to know better.
A good book is always on tap; it may be decanted and drunk a hundred times, and it is still there for further imbibement.
Those who seek happiness miss it, and those who discuss it, lack it.