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#books

Read through the most famous quotes by topic #books




I love to lose myself in other men's minds.... Books think for me. ↗


— Charles Lamb


#love

But there is in everything a reasonable division of labour. I have written the book, and nothing on earth would induce me to read it. ↗


— G.K. Chesterton


#humor #literary-criticism #humor

Silver knives! Painful and sometimes deadly to all paranormals!' 'Tasey!' I counterd 'Hot pink and sparkly! ↗


— Kiersten White


#evie #humor #humor

Dismissed like a dog. Damon groped for his jacket behind him, found it, and wished that his groping for his sense of humor could be as successful. The faces around him were all the same. They could have been carved in stone. But not stone as hard as that that was coming together again around his soul. That rock was remarkably quick to mend—and an extra layer was added, like the layering of a pearl, but not covering anything nearly so pretty. ↗


— L.J. Smith


#humor

Bloodthirsty little beasts. Never trust a duck.- William Herondale ↗


— Cassandra Clare


#will-herondale

If you cannot judge a book by its cover, surely we should not judge an author by one book alone? ↗


— E.A. Bucchianeri


#authors #book #book-cover #books #criticism

Reading a novel after reading semiotic theory was like jogging empty-handed after jogging with hand weights. What exquisite guilt she felt, wickedly enjoying narrative! Madeleine felt safe with a nineteenth century novel. There were going to be people in it. Something was going to happen to them in a place resembling the world. Then too there were lots of weddings in Wharton and Austen. There were all kinds of irresistible gloomy men. ↗


— Jeffrey Eugenides


#literary-criticism #literary-theory #narrative #nineteenth-century #novels

Sometimes I think books are the only friends worth having. ↗


— Susie Derkins


#cynicism #humor #humor

If you believe, have faith and hope then you'll discover love ↗


— Donna Raye


#faith

The keeping of lists was for November an exercise kin to repeating of a rosary. She considered it neither obsessive nor compulsive, but a ritual, an essential ordering of the world into tall, thin jars containing perfect nouns. Enough nouns connected one to the other create a verb, and verbs had created everything, had skittered across the face of the void like pebbles across a frozen pond. She had not created a verb herself, but the cherry-wood cabinet in the hall contained book after book, jar after jar, vessel upon vessel, all brown as branches, and she had faith. ↗


— Catherynne M. Valente


#lists #words #writing #faith






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