To make a tarte of strawberyes, wrote Margaret Parker in 1551, take and strayne theym with the yolkes of four eggs, and a little whyte breade grated, then season it up with suger and swete butter and...
Who are you? She asked silently, as she laid away the collector's quotations, his drawings, his scraps of famous poetry: Come live with me and be my love... interleaved with menus: 'oysters, fish stew...
I jealously guard my research time and I love fully immersing myself in those dusty old books and papers. It's one of the most enjoyable parts of my job.
It is a good rule after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between.
Old books exert a strange fascination for me -- their smell, their feel, their history; wondering who might have owned them, how they lived, what they felt.