Turning from the last page back to the first launched me adrift in silent contemplation...because it's not only clever, but probing and compassionate as well.
Here are a few bits from the many on various aspects of reading:
The imagination will not perform until it has been flooded by a vast torrent of reading.
You have to read fifteen hundred books in order to write one.
Flaubert put it.
The report that to keep him from sitting with a book for sixteen hours a day, Edmund Wilson's parents bought him a baseball uniform. Which he happily put on--and sat in with a book for sixteen hours a day.
Anyone who would employ the word diarrheic to describe a book as exactingly crafted in every line as Ulysses has either never read eleven consecutive words or possesses the literary perception of a rutabaga.
Ulysses. Diarrheic, unquote. Dale Peck.
Somewhat similarly, Roddy Doyle. A complete waste of time--Finnegans Wake.
Though in his instance at least acknowledging that he had read only three pages.
Novalis's Heinrich von Ofterdingen.
The last one that Borges asked to hear before his death.
I must ever have some Dulcinea in my head--it harmonises the soul.
Said Laurence Sterne.