1. bluepueblo:

Library, Cardiff, Wales
photo via forest


    Library, Cardiff, Wales

    photo via forest

    (via fabric-of-a-gentleman)

  2. nationalbook:

    "Bookplates first appeared in the 1480s with the book–owner’s coat of arms. In America, people started using them as early as 1680 and in greater numbers in the 1730s. And by the end of the nineteenth century, when the Arts and Crafts Movement was challenging the excessive decoration of the earlier Victorian taste, bookplate collecting became a fashionable pursuit, one that would remain so until World War II."

    Via the Smithsonian’s Archives of American Art Blog, the graphic contributions of American artists to the history of the bookplate.

    (via malapropsbookstore)

  3. :)
  4. http://www.shakespeareandcompany.com/
  5. endlesslibraries:

English library (by x)


    English library (by x)

    (via booklover)

  6. "Literature is born when something in life goes slightly adrift."
    Simone de Beauvoir, Prime of Life. (via pecadosmortales)

    (Source: beauvoiriana, via booklover)


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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