1. Shakespeare & Company

    Shakespeare & Company

  2. teachingliteracy:

reading space.


    reading space.

    (Source: notmybeautifulhome, via aquieterstorm)

  3. littledallilasbookshelf:

cozy antiquarian bookstore by Stephen Coles on Flickr.
  4. newlyfledged:

John Muir overseeing Diesel Bookstore in Larkspur.


    John Muir overseeing Diesel Bookstore in Larkspur.

    (via bookporn)

  5. ilovereadingandwriting:

sketchbook (via Sketchbook: Curtner Art)
  6. (via powells)

  7. "Most of our lives don’t feel like novels… Most of us have areas of our lives that we can’t even believe we lived them. It’s more like our lives are a bookshelf with 4 or 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 or 9 or 12 novels… We look back and are like, “Who was that? Did I even live that life?”… Many of us have chapters in our lives that when they come to an end, they come to an end forever, and that there’s no fitting them in to the standard narrative of a novel, where things have to connect and there’s kind of a flow…

    There are ruptures in our lives that I always thought were better represented by the connected short story… I feel like a short story is truer to what we experience. We get to the end of a short story and then that shit is done forever. There are ways that we live that. There are ways that we have loved people and have had places, that once we’ve experience them, they are gone forever and they never come back. I think that the form was form for me was also an attempt to argue for an ethos about the way that we live that I didn’t feel that a novel could always capture as persuasively… This is an argument for how much easier it is to portray a life with those kinds of ruptures."

    Junot Diaz (via)


    (Source: hystericalfeelism, via earlgreyandscones)

  8. (Source: prettybooks, via bookporn)


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)

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Contributor: womenreading.tumblr.com

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