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Grocott & Ward, comps. Grocott’s Familiar Quotations, 6th ed. 189-?.

Book

’Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print;
A book’s a book, although there’s nothing in ’t.
Byron.—English Bards, Line 51.

Not twice a twelvemonth, you appear in print,
And when it comes, the court see nothing in ’t.
Pope.—Epilo. to Sat. Dialogue I. Line 1.

She’s a book
To be with care perus’d.
Beaumont and Fletcher.—The Lover’s Progress, Act V. Scene 3.

A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.
Milton.—Areopagitica.

The style which makes books live.
Jas. Browne, LL.D., Biog. of Leibnitz.

The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone;
I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon.
Anonymous.—A praise of his Lady.—(Gilfillan’s Specimens, Vol. I., Page 132.)

My only books were woman’s looks,
And folly’s all they’ve taught me.
Tom Moore.—The Time I’ve Lost in Wooing. Vol. III. Page 342.

No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a character,
Removed far from our human sight,
But if we steadfast look,
We shall discern
In it as in some holy book,
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.
Habington.—Nox nocti, &c., Verse 4.

Here, in the country, my books are my sole occupation; books my sure solace, and refuge from frivolous cares. Books, the calmers, as well as the instruction of the mind.
Mrs. Inchbald.—To Marry or not to Marry, Act II. Scene 2.

Come, my best friends, my books! and lead me on.
Cowley.—The Motto, Line 25.

Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book.
Shakespeare.—Love’s Labour’s Lost, Act IV. Scene 2.

Books, dear books,
Have been, and are my comforts; morn and night,
Adversity, prosperity, at home,
Abroad, health, sickness—good or ill report,
The same firm friends; the same refreshment rich,
And source of consolation.
Dr. Dodd.—Thoughts in Prison, Third Week. Pliny, Junior.—Epistle I. Line 8.

Shall we not believe books in print?
Beaumont and Fletcher.—The Night Walker, Act III. Scene 4.

Books cannot always please, however good;
Minds are not ever craving for their food.
Crabbe.—The Borough, Letter 24.