On Books, And a Light Thought on a Serious Matter

I found this quote on Dictionary.com this morning and I just had to share!  Enjoy!  :D
“It had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming up of themselves like grass. Yet regardless of where they came from, I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them—with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself. Still illiterate, I was ready for them, committed to all the reading I could give them.” 
-Eudora Welty, One Writer’s Beginnings, ch. 1
Also, a piece from “A Prairie Home Companion” ‘s Garrison Keillor that always makes me grin:

I came home Friday evening, had dinner, wrote a limerick about my neurologist, and started writing about the experience of having a minor stroke. Nothing bad happens to writers — everything is just material.

Last Monday I suffered a stroke
Which affected the way that I spoke,
But it revved up my brain,
Which they cannot explain,
And now, when I think, I smell smoke.