#reading

Being blind is the worst possible thing and asking me to read and write no more is torture. ↗

— Jessica E. Larsen

#reading-books #writing-books #writing-life #life

We profit little by books we do not enjoy. ↗

— John Lubbock

#reading #life

Literature is the supreme means by which you renew your sensuous and emotional life and learn a new awareness. ↗

— F.R. Leavis

#reading #life

For some reason, when people meet me and find out I'm a writer they always ask if I write children's books. Um... please don't let your kids read my books. Well, unless your kids are in their 30s or something...then yeah, they're old enough. LOL ↗

— Michelle M. Pillow

#author #genre-fiction #reading #romance #writer

I have managed not to finish certain books. With barely a twinge of conscience, I hurl down what bores me or doesn't give what I crave: ecstasy, transcendence, a thrill of mysterious connection. For, more than anything else, readers are thrill-seekers, though I don't read thrillers, not the kind sold under that label, anyway. They don't thrill; only language thrills. ↗

— Lynne Sharon Schwartz

#language #reading #thrill #life

There are a lot of writers, but only one YOU. ↗

— Pandora Gray

#life #reading #writing #life

Who would call a day spent reading a good day? But a life spent reading--that is a good life. A day that closely resembles every other day of the past ten or twenty years does not suggest itself as a good one. But who would not call Pasteur's life a good one, or Thomas Mann's? ↗

— Annie Dillard

#life

Welcome to Book-a-holic Anonymous. Hi, I'm glyn and I addictive to the written word. I love the smell of the blackest ink sliding across lightly texture paper. My eyes squint against the lost of time within the pages of story. Sorry to say that I don't think there's a cure for my compulsion to lose myself within life and times of those characters bound between the covers. ↗

— g.k.griswold

#anonymous #book #book-a-holic #character #compulsion

I could not give up either of these worlds, neither the book I am holding nor the gleaming forest, though I have told you almost nothing of what is said here on these grim pages, from the sentences of which I’ve conjured images of a bleak site years ago. Here in this room, I suppose, is to be found the interior world of the book; but it opens upon a world beyond the windows, where no event has been collapsed into syntax, where the vocabulary, it seems, is infinite. The indispensable connection for me lies with the open space (of the open window ajar year round, never closed) that lets the breath of every winter storm, the ripping wind and its pelting rain, enter the room. ↗

— Barry Lopez

#breathing #meditation #nature #reading #writing

Stories were different, though: they came alive in the telling. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of wide eyes following them by flashlight beneath a blanket, they had no real existence in our world...They could take root in the imagination and transform the reader. Stories wanted to be read, David's mother would whisper. They needed it. It was the reason they forced themselves from their world into ours. They wanted us to give them life. ↗

— John Connolly

#books #imagination #life #reading #stories