This story is for Jon. If it weren't for Jon, this story wouldn't be. --MB I was going to dedicate it to Jon. Now what am I gonna do, dedicate another book to my wife? Like she still notices. --AR
For my mum, the most important woman in my life, this book is dedicated to you. Now for God's sake don't read it!
Lyte Lowys my sone, I aperceyve wel by certeyne evydences thyn abilite to lerne sciences touching nombres and proporciouns; and as wel considre I thy besy praier in special to lerne the tretys of the Astrelabie. Than for as moche as a philosofre saith, 'he wrappith him in his frend, that condescendith to the rightfulle praiers of his frend,' therfore have I yeven the a suffisant Astrolabie as for oure orizonte, compowned after the latitude of Oxenforde; upon which, by mediacioun of this litel tretys, I purpose to teche the a certein nombre of conclusions aperteynyng to the same instrument.
To all those who lead monotonous lives in the hope that they may experience at second hand the delights and dangers of adventure.
This is not for you.
Once again to Zelda
For Colin Firth--You're a really great guy, but I'm married, so I think we should just be friends.
To Rahim Khan who read my stories before I knew how to write them.
So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation which, in the midst of civilization, artificially creates a hell on earth, and complicates with human fatality a destiny that is divine; so long as the three problems of the century–the degradation of man by the exploitation of his labor, the ruin of woman by starvation, and the atrophy of childhood by physical and spiritual night–are not solved; so long as, in certain regions, social asphyxia shall be possible; in other words, and from a still broader point of view, so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, there should be a need for books such as this. –1862
For having published this book, Penguin Books were prosecuted under the Obscene Publications Act, 1959 at the Old Bailey in London from 20 October to 2 November 1960. This edition is therefore dedicated to the twelve jurors, three women and nine men, who returned a verdict of 'Not Guilty' and thus made [author]'s last novel available for the first time to the public in the United Kingdom.
for Phyllis, who made me put the dragons in.
This book is dedicated to all those New Zealand filmmakers who who crawl up clifftops in the face of logic
The dedication of this book is split seven ways: to Neil, to Jessica, to David, to Kenzie, to Di, to Anne, and to you, if you have stuck with Harry until the very end.
To the workingmen of America.
To Beatrice--darling, dearest, dead.
To the badgers that were kind enough to ignore, sometimes, my association with the human race
Dear Pat, You came upon me carving some kind of little figure out of wood and you said, ''Why don’t you make something for me?'' I asked you what you wanted, and you said, ''A box.'' ''What for?'' ''To put things in.'' ''What kind of things?'' ''Whatever you have,'' you said. Well, here's your box. Nearly everything I have is in it, and it is not full. Pain and excitement are in it, and feeling good or bad and evil thoughts and good thoughts- the pleasure of design and some despair and the indescribable joy of creation. And on top of these are all the gratitude and love I have for you. And still the box is not full.
To my Grandmother, Youa Lee, who never learned how to write. To my baby brother, Maxwell Hwm Yang, who will read the things she never wrote.