1. bookpatrol:

Portrait de l’éditeur Eugène Figuière (The Publisher Eugene Figuiere) by Albert Gleizes, 1913

    bookpatrol:

    Portrait de l’éditeur Eugène Figuière (The Publisher Eugene Figuiere) by Albert Gleizes, 1913

    (via openbookstore)

  2. bookshelfporn:

Framed Bookshelf by Mark Taylor Design

    bookshelfporn:

    Framed Bookshelf by Mark Taylor Design

  3. strandbooks:

Awesome vintage book cover: The Crucible by Arthur Miller.

    strandbooks:

    Awesome vintage book cover: The Crucible by Arthur Miller.

  4. wordpainting:

Vladimir Nabokov

    wordpainting:

    Vladimir Nabokov

  5. martinaboone:

The Reader “Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” - Roald Dahl via http://ift.tt/1rKj588

    martinaboone:

    The Reader “Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” - Roald Dahl via http://ift.tt/1rKj588

    (via malapropsbookstore)

  6. wordpainting:

It certainly does.

    wordpainting:

    It certainly does.

    (Source: theladyaribella)

  7. "And she is the reader
    who browses the shelf
    and looks for new worlds
    but finds herself."
    Laura Purdie Salas (via observando)

    (via booklover)

About

Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing. (Harper Lee)

I nearly always write, just as I nearly always breathe.
(John Steinbeck)

When I don’t write, I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in a prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing.
(Anaïs Nin)

With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy.
(Haruki Murakami)

I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling.
(Carlos Ruiz Zafón)

He loved a book because it was a book; he loved its odor, its form, its title. What he loved in a manuscript was its old illegible date, the bizarre and strange Gothic characters, the heavy gilding which loaded its drawings. It was its pages covered with dust — dust of which he breathed the sweet and tender perfume with delight.
(Gustave Flaubert)

I whispered the thrilling words to myself, then lifted the book to my nose and breathed the ink from its pages. The scent of possibilities.
(Kate Morton)

This is how you read a novel: you inhale the experience. So start breathing.
(Azar Nafisi)



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Contributor: womenreading.tumblr.com


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