#boo

Reading yourself as a fiction as well as a fact is the only way to keep the narrative open - the only way to stop the story from running away under its own momentum, often towards an ending no one wants. ↗

— Jeanette Winterson

#end #fiction #life #reading #stories

If life was a book; every day would be a new page, every month would be a new chapter, and every year would be a new series. ↗

— Elizabeth Duivenvoorde

#books #life #month #week #year

Books are the ultimate Dumpees: put them down and they’ll wait for you forever; pay attention to them and they always love you back. ↗

— John Green

#reading #love

They didn’t agree on much. In fact, they didn’t agree on anything. They fought all the time and challenged each other ever day. But despite their differences, they had one important thing in common. They were crazy about each other. ↗

— Nicholas Sparks

#love #nicholas-sparks #romance #the-notebook #love

There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it. It is like falling in love. ↗

— Christopher Morley

#books #love

The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books ↗

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

#learning #love #serenity #love

Books that have become classics - books that have had their day and now get more praise than perusal - always remind me of retired colonels and majors and captains who, having reached the age limit, find themselves retired on half pay. ↗

— Thomas Bailey Aldrich

#always #become #books #captains #classics

I love books. I like that the moment you open one and sink into it you can escape from the world, into a story that's way more interesting that yours will ever be. ↗

— Elizabeth Scott

#love

From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood. There was poetry for quiet companionship. There was adventure when she tired of quiet hours. There would be love stories when she came into adolescence and when she wanted to feel a closeness to someone she could read a biography. On that day when she first knew she could read, she made a vow to read one book a day as long as she lived. ↗

— Betty Smith

#literature #lonliness #reading #solitude #love

Hair the color of lemons,'" Rudy read. His fingers touched the words. "You told him about me?" At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting. Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month from his death. Of course I told him about you," Liesel said. ↗

— Markus Zusak

#thief #death