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 “I dig old books.”
 Est. 1998


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My Favorite Book Dedications 


Welcome to my favorite dedications and assorted front matter from books. When authors put a little extra effort and creativity into those often overlooked forepages rather than simply writing "For Someone," 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

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

to those who
lie awake

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


~Rose Fyleman, Fairies and Chimneys, 1920

This book is dedicated to
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
~Alice Walker, The Color Purple, 1982

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

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

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]

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,
known as Broad Jo...
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

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 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]

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

At turn of year, when winter's past
and spring's at hand, I think at last
I understand. Then comes the night
when peepers shrill and geese in flight
gabble the moon. And then I say
that all I know can be stowed away
in an acorn cup. But this is plain:
That snow is snow and rain is rain,
that wind is change, that water ran
before earth felt the foot of man;
that flesh and blood of me are kinned
with grass and bush and tree and wind;
that love is sweet and salt are tears;
that days become the turning years;
that I am new and time is old;
that love is warm and hate is cold.
What more is there to understand
when winter's past and spring's at hand?

~Hal Borland, Hal Borland's Book of Days, 1976

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Original post date 2019 Mar 29
New entries added as found
Last saved 2020 Jul 25 Sat 15:53 PDT

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