deliberate and careful.

But I think that as one grows older one may take out a licence, so
to speak, to read less. One may go back to the old restful books,
where one knows the characters well, hear the old remarks, survey
the same scenes. One may meditate more upon one's stores, stroll
about more, just looking at life, seeing the quiet things that are
happening, and beaming through one's spectacles. One ought to have
amassed, as life goes on and the shadows lengthen, a good deal of
material for reflection. And, after all, reading is not in itself a
virtue; it is only one way of passing the time; talking is another
way, watching things another. Bacon says that reading makes a full
man; well, I cannot help thinking that many people are full to the
brim when they reach the age of forty, and that much which they
afterwards put into the overcharged vase merely drips and slobbers
uncomfortably down the side and foot.

The thing to determine then, as one's brain hardens or softens, is
what the object of reading is. It is not, I venture to think, what
used to be called the pursuit of knowledge. Of course, if a man is
a professional teacher or a professional writer, he must read for
professional purposes, just as a coral insect must eat to enable it
to secrete the substances out of which it builds its branching
house. But I am not here speaking of professional studies, but of
general reading. I suppose that there are three motives for
reading--the first, purely pleasurable; the second, intellectual;
the third, what may be called ethical. As to the first, a man who
reads at all, reads just as he eats, sleeps, and takes exercise,
because he likes it; and that is probably the best reason that can
be given for the practice. It is an innocent mode of passing the