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 Est. 1998




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My Favorite Book Dedications,
Front Matter & Back Matter



Welcome to my favorite dedications and assorted front matter and back matter from books. When authors put a little extra effort and creativity into those often overlooked pages, they adorn the entryway to their stories with a welcoming porch light and garland.  —ღ Terri


For Beatrice —
Dead women tell no tales.
Sad men write them down.
~Lemony Snicket, The Grim Grotto, 2004


For MARCELLE
who will be found between the lines
~Joseph Wood Krutch, The Twelve Seasons, 1949


to those who
lie awake
burning.

~K.Y. Robinson, The Chaos of Longing, 2017


You out there, so secret.
What makes you think you're alone?
~Thomas McGrath, Open Songs, 1977


Here are my songs, O child, O sage:
Come, bring your heart and let me win it.
You'll find my heart on every page:
The book is yours, with the heart that's in it!
~Edwin Markham, "To All Friends," Gates of Paradise and Other Poems, 1920


Dedicated
TO THE SOFT SPOT
IN THE
WORLD'S GREAT HEART

~Charles F. Raymond, Just Be Glad, 1907


To those who
In their journey
Have touched me in mine
And drawn the blood
Of memorable moments.
~Cave Outlaw (1900–1996), Autumn Walk, 1974


To The Reader:
Thanks for paying my rent;
keep up the great work!
~Ian Spector, Chuck Norris Cannot Be Stopped, 2010


Some years ago I wrote a novel about life on an island off the coast of Maine. In a prefatory note I claimed that this island was not real. Since I live on an island off the coast of Maine, readers didn't believe me. More recently I wrote a novel about doctors, and I claimed that the doctors in that novel were not real. Since I am a practicing physician, readers didn't believe me. The present novel concerns a doctor on an island off the coast of Maine. This time I make no claim beyond stating that this is a novel, a work of fiction. Readers may believe whatever they like. ~Charles H. Knickerbocker, "author's note," Summer Doctor, 1963


TO
THE REALEST FAIRY
OF MY CHILDHOOD

MY MOTHER
~Rose Fyleman, Fairies and Chimneys, 1920


Dedicated to young people so that they may enter chartered seas, and avoid the hidden rocks that wrecked their elders' joy. ~Marie Carmichael Stopes, Change of Life in Men and Women, 1936


DEDICATION.
Only this — that when I've done with wearing
Gold words upon my heart and reaching after
My immortality, I shall be hearing
Then, and long afterwards (be sure!) your laughter.
~Humbert Wolfe, Shylock Reasons with Mr. Chesterton and Other Poems, 1920


      EVERY character and every event in this novel is fictitious, and any coincidence with the name or conduct or circumstance of any living person is unintentional. In this repudiation the author must include himself. The story is told in the first person but the voice is the voice of an invented personality — however lifelike and self-conscious it may seem...
      Yet let us not go too far with these now customary disavowals. Every proper novel is judged by its reality and is designed to display life; it must present real life and real incidents and not life and incidents taken from other books; it should not, therefore, be anything but experience, observation, good hearsay and original thought, disarticulated and rearranged. You take bits from this person and bits from that, from a friend you have known for a lifetime or from someone you overheard upon a railway platform while waiting for a train or from some odd phrase or thing reported in a newspaper. That is the way fiction is made and there is no other way. If a character in a book should have the luck to seem like a real human being that is no excuse for imagining an 'original' or suspecting a caricature. This is a story about happiness and about loneliness of spirit, told in good faith. Nothing in this book has happened to anyone; much in this book has happened to many people. ~H. G. Wells, "Prefatory Note," Apropos of Dolores, 1938


TO  YOU
~Israel Zangwill, Without Prejudice, 1896


This book is dedicated to
MY SON, GUY JOHNSON,
and all the strong
black birds of promise
who defy the odds and gods
and sing their songs
~Maya Angelou, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, 1969


For my wife, our daughters, and our parents, and to the unending wonder of the continuum
~Nicholas A. Basbanes, A Splendor of Letters, 2003


To the Spirit:
Without whose assistance
Neither this book
Nor I
Would have been
Written.
~Alice Walker, The Color Purple, 1982


TO
LYMAN BEECHER, D.D.
To you I owe more than to any other living being. In childhood, you were my Parent; in later life, my Teacher; in manhood, my Companion...
~Henry Ward Beecher, Lectures to Young Men, on Various Important Subjects, 1844


For the tempest-tossed:
past, present, and to come

~Gregory Maguire, What-the-Dickens: The Story of a Rogue Tooth Fairy, 2007


      An author who has much to communicate under this head, and expects to have it attended to, may be compared to a man who takes his friend by the button at a Theatre Door, and seeks to entertain him with a personal gossip before he goes in to the play.
      Nevertheless, as Prefaces, though seldom read, are continually written, no doubt for the behoof of that so richly and so disinterestedly endowed personage, Posterity... I add my legacy to the general remembrance... ~Charles Dickens (1812–1870)


To the Unseen but Unforgotten  ~Luella Clark, April Days, 1904


TO
Our Sweethearts
MAY THEY BECOME OUR WIVES
TO
Our Wives
MAY THEY REMAIN OUR SWEETHEARTS
~Herbert Dickinson Ward, Lauriel: The Love Letters of an American Girl, 1901


To Mother
Who Encouraged
To Father
Who Understood

~George A. Dorsey, Young Low, 1917


TO
YOUR
MOTHER

~Rupert Hughes, The Old Nest, 1912


If I had been a father gander
I could have made these rhymes far grander.
But, as it is, if they're no use,
thank God! there's always Mother Goose.
~Humbert Wolfe, "Epilogue," Cursory Rhymes, 1928


TO ANYONE READING THIS BOOK:
You, miracle marvellous and divine,
Whose eyes upon this page now fall,
Have linked your soul so unto mine
That I must praise you most of all.
I care not, be you young or old:
I heed not if you love or hate:
Reading my rhymes may leave you cold,
You read them yet, at any rate.
Then, after, with each further rhyme,
I feel your hands that push the pen;
Your breath that falls to mark the time,
My songs shall rise the higher, then!
~John Gould Fletcher, Fire and Wine, 1913


TO
PENITENCE AND PUNISHMENT
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
~Thomas W. Lawson, Frenzied Finance, 1905


To Tim, with love —
so that the whole world will know
how much you mean to me
~Jodi Picoult, Salem Falls, 2001


For Tim, because I am at home in your heart
~Ellery Adams, Poisoned Prose, 2013


To
Lady Bird Johnson
Not all the soldiers were in Vietnam.
This one was in the White House.
~Rita Mae Brown, Dolley, 1994


To those who see trees.
~Douglas Wood, The Things Trees Know, 2005


All the characters and incidents described herein are fictitious — and I am actually the long-missing Crown Prince Alexis, rightful heir to the throne of all the Russias. ~Gerald Raftery (1905–1986), The natives are always restless, 1964  [disclaimer in front matter –tg]


I made these poems—
      these fugitive, these few—
because I had to,
      and because of you.
Because of you and song
      I came to make them.
They are all yours, Euterpe.
      Will you take them?
~Humbert Wolfe, "Invocation," Humoresque, 1926


To
DR. AND MRS. JOHN T. HARRINGTON
Life flings miles and years between us,
      It is true,—
But brings never to me dearer
      Friends than you!

~Dorothy Scarborough, Humorous Ghost Stories, 1921


To the men and women who wrote this book,
and speak to us here and now, of things without time;
and those who speak to us, here and now, from beyond the stars
~John K. Terres, Things Precious & Wild, 1991


To mom and dad,
for filling my head with endless dreams,
my hands with endless books,
and my heart with endless love.
~Kelseyleigh Reber, If I Resist, 2015


I dedicate this novel to my father,
JOACHIM ALBERT WOLFGANG GEORGE,
known as Broad Jo...
Papa,
you were the only person who read everything I ever
wrote from the moment I learned to write. I will miss
you at all times. I see you in every ray of evening
light and in every wave of every sea.
You left in midsentence.

~Nina George, The Little Paris Bookshop, translated by Simon Pare, 2015


Also, if you find holes in my book that you could drive a car through, do not be too sure they were not left there for that express purpose. ~Mary Hunter Austin, The Land of Journeys' Ending, 1924


To Phillpotts "Minor"
as a trifling tribute of fraternal regard
and in green and grateful memory
of our boyhood
~Eden Phillpotts, The Human Boy, 1899


Christopher Morley and Bart Haley dated their foreword to In the Sweet Dry and Dry: "Philadelphia, Ten minutes before Midnight, June 30, 1919."  [which I'm guessing may have been the deadline to get it to their publisher, as is also written "The public will forgive this being only a brief preface, for at the moment of writing the time is short." —tg]


The publishers wish me to stand in the vestibule of this book and open the door for the people. Those who enter these portals will find three rooms grandly furnished, a picture-gallery, a music-hall, and a library. ~T. De Witt Talmage, Introduction to W. R. Balch, Perfect Jewels, 1884


Dedicated
to
All Who Still Have the Natural
Child Love for Rhyme
and Verse
~Elon Allan Richards, The Poet Man, Et Cetera, 1913


To
my great-grandchildren, Katherine, David and Stephen — the last of whom just arrived as this goes to press. When they grow up and start paying on the public debt bequeathed them by this de-generation, may they find something herein to cheer them up and help them forget and forgive what we are now doing to them!
~J. W. Cunningham, Corn on the Cob, 1952


This book is published by the author. Brickbats, bouquets and orders — all equally welcome — may be addressed to:  J.W. Cunningham, Robinwood Ave, Toledo 10, O.  ~J. W. Cunningham, Corn on the Cob, 1952  [correspondence address notice in front matter –tg]


To
JOSEPH CONRAD
A Novelist Who Understands
as Poets Do

~Christopher Morley, Inward Ho!, 1923


I have a request to make of those who read "Empty Shells." If any friend surmises he has discovered the author he will be courteous enough to keep my secret. I have left out a great many poems that would have betrayed my identity, and put in none that I have cause to fear. Why then publish? I have no right to count on a long life and I am not willing to be "edited, revised, and corrected." On the other hand, I feel towards my poems as many women do towards their weak children; and treasure them because if they were conceived in grief they healed my heart. After the first smart of a new loss was softened, next to writing my greatest comfort was reading; and I did not then seek great authors. Shakespeare, Milton, and Goethe were naught to me: I sought minor Poets — of whom I dare hope to be one. Could I but be a like comfort to some simple, sorrowing hearts I should feel my life-griefs had not been in vain. ~Opal, Preface, Empty Shells, 1874


To all those who struggle to care for aging parents, may God grant you love and grace beyond your wildest dreams... ~Lauraine Snelling, On Hummingbird Wings, 2011


This is a bawdy tale. Herein you will find gratuitous shagging, murder, spanking, maiming, treason, and heretofore unexplored heights of vulgarity and profanity, as well as non-traditional grammar, split infinitives, and the odd wank. If that sort of thing bothers you, then gentle reader pass by, for we endeavor only to entertain, not to offend. ~Christopher Moore, Fool, 2009  ["Warning," in front matter —tg]


THIS BOOK,
NOT BEING A CYNICAL NOVEL,
FOR THE BLASÉS OF SOCIETY,
NOR A GOOD-NATURED STORY,
ABOUNDING IN SLANG AND VULGARITY,
FOR THE YOUTHFUL READER,
NOR THE PRODUCTION OF ONE WHO HAS SOUGHT
THE ACQUAINTANCE OF CRITICS, WITH THE VIEW OF
PURCHASING OR CONCILIATING THEIR GOOD OPINION,
IS DEDICATED
TO THE MASTER SPIRIT OF THE AGE,
THE GREAT POOH! POOH!
WITH THE HUMBLE CERTAINTY
OF HIS FAVOURABLE JUDGMENT.
~Charles Mackay, The Gouty Philosopher; or, The Opinions, Whims, and Eccentricities of John Wagstaffe, Esq., of Wilbye Grange, 1862


This book is intended to be read in bed. Please do not attempt to read it anywhere else. In order to obtain the best results for all concerned do not read a borrowed copy, but buy one. If the bed is a double bed, buy two. ~Christopher Morley, "Instructions," Mince Pie: Adventures on the Sunny Side of Grub Street, 1919


To My Dear Friend
CLAIRE DANA MUMFORD
but for whose genius for appreciation
this book would still be a bundle of dusty
notes in my files.
~Mary Hunter Austin, Everyman's Genius, 1923


PREFACE. 
Yours Truly,
FANNY FERN. 
~Folly As It Flies, Hit At by Fanny Fern, 1868[Certainly the most concise preface I've ever seen! —tg]


FOR BARBARA
With whom I listen to the birds,
name the wild flowers,
and count the stars.

~Hal Borland, This World of Wonder, 1973


For Barbara, especially in Autumn
I gave you emeralds in May and amethysts in June;
July I gave you turquoise skies and silver stars and moon.
December will bring Diamonds, but before the frosty cold
I give you coal-hot rubies and October's molten gold.
~Hal Borland, Sundial of the Seasons, 1964


TO THE MEMORY
OF
THE LAST GREAT LIBERATOR
OF THE HUMAN SPIRIT
WILLIAM JAMES

~F. C. S. Schiller, Formal Logic, 1912


Gentle Reader, — It is customary to omit prefaces. I beg you to make an exception in my particular case; I have something I really want to say. ~Harriet Beecher Stowe, Oldtown Folks, 1869


FOR
MY VISITOR
TO A ROOM
ON
NO. 10
STAIRCASE
AT
WADHAM
COLLEGE,
AND
BECAUSE
OF
EVERYTHING

~Humbert Wolfe, Requiem, 1927


No part of this book may be used, reproduced, destroyed, tampered with, or eaten without permission except in the case of brief, possibly coded quotations embodied in critical articles, reviews, and subpoenas... If you recognize yourself in any of the photographs or illustrations in this book you may find yourself in Very Frightening Danger and/or slightly embarrassed but there is nothing you can do about it. Please note that the author has been called a fraud, a criminal, a bestseller, a corpse, a fictional character, an unreliable narrator, an objective flaneur, an embattled gentleman, a magnetic field, an arsonist, and late for dinner by an odd number of dubious authorities. Send help at once. All rights reserved. Wouldn't you rather read about ponies? ~Lemony Snicket, Lemony Snicket: The Unauthorized Autobiography, 2002


TO THOSE
WHO HATE THE POWERS
OF DARKNESS
~Adolf Wolff (1883–1944), Songs of Rebellion, Songs of Life, Songs of Love, 1914


Dedicated
for no obvious reason
to the
Master of Lovat
~Ronald A. Knox, Other Eyes Than Ours, 1926


APPENDIX. (This part of the book may be cut out.) ~Noah Lott (George V. Hobart), The Silly Syclopedia, 1905





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published 2019 Mar 29
last saved 2024 May 4
www.quotegarden.com/book-dedications.html