1. austinkleon:

    Photographs of writers at work.

    Note how many standing desks! See also a great book on the subject, The Writer’s Desk.

    Filed under: work spaces

    (via bookporn)

  2. wordpainting:

Now who the hell could ever read too much?!?

    wordpainting:

    Now who the hell could ever read too much?!?

    (Source: thealanmoore)

  3. awesomepeoplereading:

Woolf reads.

    awesomepeoplereading:

    Woolf reads.

  4. mortisia:

― Annie Dillard, The Living x

    mortisia:

    Annie Dillard, The Living x

    (via bookporn)

  5. booksandstories:

A lovely little haven of literature in Liskeard (Cornwall, UK)

    booksandstories:

    A lovely little haven of literature in Liskeard (Cornwall, UK)

  6. 
nicoleloveswalt:
Founders as seen from the library

    nicoleloveswalt:

    Founders as seen from the library

    (via bookporn)

  7. (Source: bookshelves)

  8. dailydoseofstuf:

Love how all the nooks and corners are filled. 

    dailydoseofstuf:

    Love how all the nooks and corners are filled. 

    (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)



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

Contributor: womenreading.tumblr.com


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