Some books are like windows, glazed with perfect glass, showing us a view so clear the window seems not to be between it and us at all. Other books are clear pools, transparent as glass, not merely showing us the view but touching with itself the life we see and bearing that reality to its own surface where we are. The one is good, the other exquisite; the one masterful, the other perfect.
June 11, 1984
(March 17, 2007)