“Yes, the stories are dangerous, she was right. A book is a magic carpet that flies you off elsewhere. A book is a door. You open it. You step through. Do you come back?”

“Remember that the book which bores you when you are twenty or thirty will open doors for you when you are forty or fifty-and vise versa. Don’t read a book out of its right time for you.”

“Books, for me, are a home. Books don’t make a home – they are one, in the sense that just as you do with a door, you open a book, and you go inside. Inside there is a different kind of time and a different kind of space.”

“you find magic wherever you look. sit back and relax. all you need is a book”

“How do you know that you are not part of a book? That someone's not reading your story right now?”

“I love the way that each book—any book—is its own journey. You open it, and off you go….”

“Go back to Earth with a lip unsealed—go back with an open eye,
“And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to die:
“That the sin they do by two and two they must pay for one by one—
“And the God that you took from a printed book be with you, Tomlinson!”

“And what about magic?”
“What about it?”
“Will you teach me?”
“You don’t even know if you’re capable of doing magic.”
“How do I find out? Is there a test or something?”
“Yes, we cut off your head. If it grows back, you can do magic.”

“You can't leave me alone," she said, following him into the living room.
"Yes," he corrected, "I can. You'll be perfectly safe."
"The front door's off!"
"Well, yes. You'll be perfectly safe as long as they don't come through the front door.”

“Whenever you read a good book, somewhere in the world a door opens to allow in more light.”