"The rest of the pretty sitting-room--looking into the orchard, and all covered over with dancing tree shadows--was filled with books. They lay on the ground, they covered the walls, they strewed the table. He was evidently half ashamed and half proud of his extravagance in this respect.
They were of all kinds, --poetry, and wild weird tales prevailing. He evidently chose books in accordance with his own tastes, not because such and such were classical or established favorites. 'Ah!' he said, 'we farmers ought not to have much time for reading; yet somehow one can't help it.' " ~Elizabeth Gaskell, Cranford