“If there were nothing else, reading would--obviously--be worth living for.”

“If he could not find beauty, nothing else would be worth finding.”

“Of little worth as life is when we misuse it, it is worth that effort. It would cost nothing to lay down if it were not.”

“If tomorrow were never to come, it would not be worth living today.”

“There is nothing worth living for, unless it is worth dying for.”

“Once in a while, though, he went on binges. He would sneak into bookstores or libraries, lurk around the racks where the little magazines were kept; sometimes he'd buy one. Dead poets were his business, living ones his vice. Much of the stuff he read was crap and he knew it; still, it gave him an odd lift. Then there would be the occasional real poem, and he would catch his breath. Nothing else could drop him through space like that, then catch him; nothing else could peel him open.”