Every new search is a voyage to the Indies, a quest for buried treasure, a journey to the end of the rainbow; and whether or not at the end there shall be turned up a pot of gold or merely… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share Image
“Here dwell together still two men of note Who never lived and so can never die: How very near they seem, yet how remote That age before the world went all awry. But still the game’s afoot for those with ears Attuned to catch the distant view-halloo: England is England yet, for all our fears– Only those things the heart… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share
“It is possible that the most misunderstood man upon earth is the collector of books…” — Vincent Starrett Copy Share Image
“Man wants what he cannot have, or what is difficult to procure, or what he must wade through the blood of other men to… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share Image
The day before yesterday has always been a day of glamor, of gilt and glory. The present is sordid and prosaic. Time colors history… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share Image
But there can be no grave for Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson...Shall they not always live in Baker Street? Are they not there this moment, as one writes? Outside, the hansoms rattle through the rain, and Moriarty plans his latest devilry. Within, the sea-coal flames upon the hearth and Holmes and Watson take their well-won case...So they still live for… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share
Every new search is a voyage to the Indies, a quest for buried treasure, a journey to the end of the rainbow; and whether… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share Image
“For one thing, a first edition certainly is the edition nearest the heart of an author, the edition upon which his hopes were laid and his ambitions builded; and particularly is this true when the book in question happens to be an author's first publication. Imagine with what flatterings of the authorical heart, with what ecstatic apprehension, he handled his… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share
The day before yesterday always has been a glamour day. The present is sordid and prosaic. Time colors history as it does a meerschaum… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share Image
A yellow fog swirls past the window-pane As night descends upon the fabled street: A lonely hansom splashes through the rain, And ghostly gas… — Vincent Starrett Copy Share Image
