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Updated: October 17, 2025
She would not have shortened the old lady's life by a single second, and she would have died herself rather than betray this thought to any one, even to Wolf even to Rose! But it suddenly seemed to her very unjust that she could be picked out of Biretta's bookstore to-day, by Aunt Marianna's pleasure, and perhaps put back there to-morrow through no fault of her own.
And what an encircling, almost paternal, gentleness there is in the picture of the young poet as a salesman at Scribner's bookstore: His smile, never far away, when it came was winning, charming. It broke like spring sunshine, it was so fresh and warm and clear. And there was noticeable then in his eyes a light, a quiet glow, which marked him as a spirit not to be forgotten.
He reached a bookstore and turned in, idly looking through volumes of verse, while he killed the hour before his appointment.
Still, Hen was accounted a fine stenographer: they paid her sixty dollars a month at the bookstore, where she earned double at least. For five minutes the talk between these two girls, of about the same age and blood but, it seemed, almost without a point of contact, was considerably perfunctory. Then, by an odd chance and in the wink of an eye, it took on a very distinct interest.
Good old George Herbert says: A grain of glory mixed with humblenesse Cures both a fever and lethargicknesse. "Certainly running a second-hand bookstore is a pretty humble calling, but I've mixed a grain of glory with it, in my own imagination at any rate. You see, books contain the thoughts and dreams of men, their hopes and strivings and all their immortal parts.
I want to give people an entirely new idea about bookshops. The grain of glory that I hope will cure both my fever and my lethargicness is my conception of the bookstore as a power-house, a radiating place for truth and beauty. I insist books are not absolutely dead things: they are as lively as those fabulous dragons' teeth, and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men.
What a grand thing it would be for our old fire woman if boiling water were suddenly to become the fashion on these public washing days! And now goodbye. Oh! I must tell you one more thing. We found today in an Amsterdam bookstore this story of Hans Brinker told in Dutch.
But that thought did not make him unhappy. She did not seem farther away than the Fifth Avenue bookstore, or Madison Square Garden. And he amused himself by trying to pick out the very roof under which she was, among all the roofs that stretched away and away toward the west and the north. Soon he was down in the flat again, because he was physically tired, and ready for sleep.
The bookstore, when we arrived there, proved to be the most extraordinary sort of bookstore I had ever entered, there not being a book in it. Instead of books, the shelves and counters were occupied with rows of small boxes. "Almost all books now, you see, are phono-graphed," said Hamage. "The change seems to be a popular one," I said, "to judge by the crowd of book-buyers."
See, here is the statue of the general." "What general?" "General Blaumont! We had to have a statue. We are not 'the proud people of Gisors' for nothing! So we discovered General de Blaumont. Look in this bookseller's window." He drew me towards the bookstore, where about fifteen red, yellow and blue volumes attracted the eye. As I read the titles, I began to laugh idiotically.
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