ading is even more harmful in its effects than desultory
reading. It no more strengthens the brain than sitting down in a
gymnasium develops the body. The mind remains inactive, in a sort of
indolent revery, wandering here and there, without focusing anywhere.
Such reading takes the spring and snap out of the mental faculties,
weakens the intellect, and makes the brain torpid and incapable of
grappling with great principles and difficult problems.

What you get out of a book is not necessarily what the author puts into
it, but what you bring to it. If the heart does not lead the head; if
the thirst for knowledge, the hunger for a broader and deeper culture,
are not the motives for reading, you will not get the most out of a book.
But, if your thirsty soul drinks in the writer's thought as the parched
soil absorbs rain, then your latent possibilities and the potency of your
being, like delayed germs and seeds in the soil, will spring forth into
new life.

When you read, read as Macaulay did, as Carlyle did, as Lincoln did--as
did every great man who has profited by his reading--with your whole soul
absorbed in what you read, with such intense concentration that you will
be oblivious of everything else outside of your book.

"Reading furnishes us only with the materials of knowledge," said John
Locke; "it is thinking that makes what we read ours."

In order to get the most out of books, the reader must be a thinker. The
mere acquisition of facts is not the acquisition of power. To fill the
mind with knowledge that can not be made available is like filling our
houses with furniture and bric-a-brac until we have no room to move about.

Food does not become physical force, brain, or muscle until it has been
thoroughly digested and assimilated, and has become an integral part of
the blood, brain, and other tissues. Knowledge does not become power
until digested and assimilated by the brain, until it has become a part
of the mind itself.

If you wish to become intellectually strong, after reading with the
closest attention, form this habit: frequently close your book and sit
and think, or stand and walk and think--but think, contemplate, reflect.
Turn what you have read over and over in your mind.

It is not yours until you have assimilated it by your thought. When you
first read it, it belongs to the author. It is yours only when it
becomes an integral part of you.

Many people have an idea that if they keep r