But each is welcoming, inviting you to read her pages, not looking at you with suspicion. She knows that many of her sisters have been condemned to the flame for being too “dangerous.” She knows that many an ignorant brute has formed an ill-conceived opinion about her. But she does not reciprocate; she knows better than to judge a book by its cover.

A book stands boldly on the shelf, ready to tell each of her readers just the same thing. She will not seek out those who will oppose her; she does not deliver her facts and opinions without first being opened, invited to share.

Never have I found people so welcoming to me or whose society is so agreeable. Various groups, some small and some large, have fit the bill well enough, temporarily enjoying either enjoying or enduring my company, but only as long as it would suit their purposes, or as long as I can tolerate their demands. Books merely invite; never do they demand. If only such a people existed. If only a failure to behave thus were not tolerated. If only we could be left in peace, to invite others to hear us, to know us, to understand us, how much happier would each of us be!