1. lifeofliterature:

Penguin Classics (by Bright Street)


    Penguin Classics (by Bright Street)

  2. bookoasis:

(by  the fabric of my life)
  3. badhousewine:

My most favorite place in Paris the planet.


    My most favorite place in Paris the planet.

    (via prettybooks)

  4. lifeofliterature:

Typewriter (by xlibber)


    Typewriter (by xlibber)

  5. teachingliteracy:

by wertheim
  6. lastgiraffe:

Following the Curve of Her Eye by Thomas Hawk on Flickr.
  7. grayskymorning:

(by Clara Román)
  8. bookstorecouture:

double booked (by bradman334)


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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