1. wordpainting:

focus-damnit:

(via Somewhere I would like to live)

Cozy reading spot
  2. 
Murder and Mayhem Bookshop, Wales

    Murder and Mayhem Bookshop, Wales

    (Source: mellifluousbookshelf, via bookporn)

  3. "Reading time is precious. Don’t waste it. Reading bad books, or books that are wrong for a certain time in your life, can dangerously turn you off the activity altogether."
    How Not to Read by Lionel Shriver (via treesofreverie)

    (via booklover)

  4. wordpainting:

Prints and Books

    wordpainting:

    Prints and Books

    (Source: bonparisien)

  5. vintageanchorbooks:

"I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains." — from Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl

    vintageanchorbooks:

    "I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains."
    — from Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl

    (via booklover)

  6. 
Books (by Millie Clinton / mcphotography.org.uk)
  7. Beautiful!

    Beautiful!

    (Source: pansexualrevolutionary, via literaryparty)

  8. wordpainting:

Ye olde books

    wordpainting:

    Ye olde books

    (Source: slightlyignorant)

  9. (Source: prettybooks)

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)



My Other Tumblrs: mustanggina.tumblr.com
diaryofadocent.tumblr.com
ifyougiveachildabook.tumblr.com

Contributor: womenreading.tumblr.com


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